


You Said it'd be Forever

by shamelessamy10 (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Endgame HL to be clear, Epilogue, F/M, Fertility Issues, Fluff and Smut, Happy ending I promise!!!, Harry is the weed smoker not Louis - controversial I know, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Prologue, Reconciliation, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 10:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 96,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10828989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/shamelessamy10
Summary: Harry hadn't even wanted to go out the night he met Louis. Louis, the loud and obnoxious guy who literally fell out of a VW Campervan and into his heart.





	1. To the Ends of the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> _“You’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen,” Louis tells him, obviously very drunk. Louis leans in to him, close enough that Harry can smell the booze and his aftershave. “Did you know that?”_
> 
> _Harry can feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment despite how desperately cold it is here on the shore. “You’re just drunk.”_
> 
> _Louis sighs. “Yes I am,” He clicks his tongue. “But I am sure that you are gorgeous. I’m not blind. Take the compliment.”_
> 
> _“Fine,” Harry rolls his eyes, maddeningly endeared. “Thank you, Louis.”_
> 
> _“Loooo-eh,” Louis echoes, nudging Harry’s shoulder with his temple then straightening up again. “Loooo-eh. I like that, how you say m’name. Sounds nice.”_
> 
> _“Thanks.”_
> 
> _“It looks good, in your mouth. My name. Me. In your mouth.”_
> 
> _Jesus , Harry thinks to himself. He’s going to explode at any moment; literally and metaphorically._
> 
>  
> 
> So here we go! This has been in the works since about January. It was tough at times but I got there! I hope you enjoy, I would love to hear feedback. I have edited this myself to the best of my ability, any mistakes are my own.
> 
> The ending is happy, I promise.
> 
> x

_ ’I could make you happy, make your dreams come true, nothing that I wouldn't do. Go to the ends of the Earth for you, to make you feel my love’ _

Make You Feel My Love

 

 

**PROLOGUE**

**21 June 2008 | Wet Bums**

Zayn had been hassling Harry for months to come out with him and his mates and have some fun for once; Harry could recognise pitying eyes when he saw them. Harry had always refused on the basis of being too tired or too busy or too  _ anything _ . But this time, Zayn has him pretty much cornered.

Zayn is the only friend Harry really made in college, and he’s the only friend (his age at least) that he’s got now they’ve been out of college over a year. Harry doesn’t really know any of Zayn’s other friends apart from one, Liam, who he used to see from time to time around college and Liam would say hello but that’s about it. Harry doesn’t like to admit that Zayn is really his only friend, but he can’t count his sister Gemma or his cousin Matty because that’s just sad, and he  _ definitely _ can’t include his mum on his list of friends, even if he would quite like to.

Somewhat reluctantly, Harry eventually gave in and agreed to a night out, as he didn’t really didn't have a leg to stand on having inadvertently revealed that he had no plans for the weekend. Zayn explains to him that Liam will be there too, and Harry nods. Then there is their friend Ed, who Harry already knows is a bit of a busker. He is playing a gig at a pub in Southend, and Harry can only assume there will be a tonne more people there too. The idea makes Harry feel giddy with nerves and fills him with dread at first; he doesn’t cope well with crowds of people and in a setting where the only people he knows are Zayn and, to a lesser extent, Liam, he doesn’t feel much up to socialising.

The ‘gig’ is an open mic night (which Harry finds a bit pretentious and Americanised) and the pub they’re headed to is called The Wheelbarrow. They’ve got to wait in the town centre for the van to arrive that is going to take them and all Ed's equipment down there. He and Zayn arrive together, which takes away the first hurdle; all Harry has to do now is make it through the rest of the night. His stomach churns at the prospect of meeting new people, and he thinks to himself that socialising for one evening should _ not _ be this difficult. He’s nineteen for Christ sake, it’s time to get out there and live a little. There is more to life than his mum and his part-time job.

Liam arrives first, pulling Zayn into a one-armed hug. Liam is nice, and as kind in real life as the assumptions Harry had made in his own mind. He shakes Harry’s hand and then pulls him into what Harry can only describe as a bear hug. With him, Liam has brought his new girlfriend Sophia – Harry learns they’ve been together since the New Year – and Sophia has brought her friend Perrie. Together, the two girls are like night and day; Sophia is dark haired and like one of the girls Harry would’ve avoided in school, and Perrie is blonde with pink streaks and heavily made-up eyes, but she bounces about and makes a lot of noise while Sophia is quieter; more observant. Harry initially mistakes Sophia’s quietness for rudeness, but that doesn’t last long.

Harry is wondering when they’re going to get going, who else they’re still waiting for, when a rusty old maroon coloured S-reg VW campervan pulls up, full of loud, rowdy boys.

Harry’s stomach flips as he perches on the low-level wall that separates the walkway and the road. The cold seeps through the seat of his jeans as he watches the new arrivals pile out. Zayn catches his attention in the corner of his eye and beckons him to get up and walk over with him. Harry does so, though not quite willingly, and scuffs his feet as he follows Zayn towards the growing crowd. His heart is hammering so fast he’s worried other people can see it pulsing under his t-shirt.

These people are… well they’re overwhelming. But Harry’s not sure if that’s actually a bad thing or not. The first person out of the van comes flying out, quite literally. He’s short, once he’s got his feet flat on the ground, with perfect hair and clothes; rolled up black jeans, a scoop neck white tee and fur-lined denim jacket, a stark contrast to the scruffy, unassuming ginger-haired Ed in baggy jeans and an Etnies hoodie. The well-presented boy is shrieking as he jumps out of the van; Harry isn’t sure why because he missed the beginning of the conversation, and the boy dominates the group with his presence. Harry can’t help but take notice of him.

Harry finds himself hard pressed to remember Scott’s name (Ed’s roadie friend) after he's told it, but from the very second he and the loud boy are introduced, he makes quite the impression on him.

“Harry this is Tommo,” Liam introduces them, waving a hand between them. “Tommo, Harry. He’s all right, so be nice, okay?”

“I’m always nice!” The boy,  _ Tommo _ apparently, gasps in mock horror at the suggestion he could be less than friendly. “Hi, I’m Louis. Y’alright?”

Louis' got this wonderful electricity about him, a bit like the blonde girl, and he's all bright eyes and incessant energy with a dazzling lopsided smile. Harry feels a bit like a rabbit caught in headlights in Louis’ orbit, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at Louis but it must be a while because his look turns quizzical.

Snapping back to reality, Harry takes a deep breath and blinks away his daze. “Sorry, yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Yep,” Louis smiles, popping the P. “So you’re Liam’s mate? I'm Liam's mate too, why have I never met you before?”

“Well, I'm Zayn’s mate more. We went to college together. I sorta know Liam… from afar.”

“Oooh, like a stalker?” Louis asks, completely serious, and Harry feels panic rising inside him. He’s just about ready to start profusely denying anything when Louis’ face cracks and he bursts into raucous laughter. “I’m kidding, love! Your face! Bless. I’m only joking, lad.”

All Harry can do is laugh awkwardly. He feels absolutely petrified in this moment.

“Well, you’ll be all right, they’re a good bunch. Stick wi’ Liam, he’ll see you right, he’s a good kid.”

Harry nods. The very little he’s seen of Liam is very positive; he’s got a caring almost fatherly nature to him that is only amplified in this large group of personalities.

Aside from Louis, Harry also finds himself automatically drawn to Niall, an Irish guy with a strong accent and an even stronger bleached blonde hair game. He gets slapping great hugs from Niall and from Ed, the guy who is the reason Harry is even here, and a polite handshake from Scott, who doesn’t even stop to chat before he’s got the back of the van open checking and double checking everything.

Roll ups are passed around between Zayn, Ed, Scott and Liam, and Harry gratefully accepts one when offered; his nerves have taken a battering this evening and he needs some form of calming down.

“You lot look like a dry ice machine!” Louis remarks, pushing his way into the crowd and lifting Liam’s arm up and draping it around his shoulders. Harry is just about to stub his out and declare himself smoke free, just for this boy, when Louis reaches forward and plucks the roll up from between his lips.

Louis grins and wiggles his shoulders, dropping his head to the left as he lifts Harry's roll up to his lips.

“Sharing is caring, Starry Eyes.” He says softly, taking a drag. Harry has never seen something as rancid as smoking look so bloody good. Louis passes it back. Harry’s bloodstream feels like it’s been replaced with helium with how light he feels, and his skin burns when he and Louis’ fingertips brush together as they exchange the roll up.

Under Scott’s orders, they quickly smoke up and crowd into the campervan to begin the journey down South. Louis leads, followed by Niall, Perrie, Zayn, Sophia, Liam and Harry. There aren’t seats in the back of the campervan anymore, just two long seats that look like they’ve been taken out of a bus, and a load of pillows and thick blankets laid out - musical equipment takes up most of the room. Harry had originally hoped that he’d get seated next to Zayn for the trip, of course, but he finds himself between Liam and his girlfriend but that’s okay. He doesn’t spontaneously combust or anything else equally as horrific.

Scott is driving and Ed sits up front with him, naturally. Perrie, Niall and, of course, Louis are the loudest ones; Liam and Sophia happy to sit side by side with their hands resting on the other ones’ knee. Louis mocks the name of the pub all the way down to Southend. During the hour and a half long journey, Harry watches Louis be elbowed in the ribs, told to ‘shut his fucking mouth for once' and to 'stop the childish whinging'; he leans between the front seats to turn up the stereo only to have his hand smacked away by Scott.

Louis is  _ so _ loud; every other sentence he shouts, but not in an obnoxious way. Actually,  _ yes _ in an obnoxious way, but he seems to get away with it and Harry has never been more enamoured in his life.

 

*

 

They put away fifty-one pints of beer between the nine of them; a lot of it spilled onto the sticky pub floor before, after  _ and  _ during Ed’s performance. Well, ‘performance’ is a generous term maybe, but Ed’s guitar rap, or ‘grap’ as Harry had dubbed it – “No,  _ grap _ not  _ crap _ !” – seems to go down well and after last orders they spill out onto the beachfront with crates of beers that had been in the back of the van.

The seafront was just across the road. It was literally  _ right _ there; colour Harry impressed. The air was chilly at this hour, the complete opposite of the balmy humidity that had thickened the air when they’d arrived. It’s Perrie he feels most sorry for, in high waisted jeans and a crop top, but she doesn’t seem fazed. They drink too much and make too much noise and wet handfuls of muddy, pebbly sand are pelted. It’s a disastrous cacophony of fun and laughter that Harry is actually immeasurably glad he got to be a part of.

He is mildly distressed, however, about the glass bottles being left in the sand to cause injuries, but Liam hooks an arm around him with a friendly grin and they collect them together. Hilarity ensues when the girls go for a wee behind the van, and a very pissed Niall gallantly offers to scale the building to knock out the CCTV cameras for them.

Ed and Scott hadn’t followed them out to the beach, so they take advantage of Ed’s absence and take one of his guitars from the back of the van; grouping together on the beach with Niall strumming out an acoustic set of a wide variety of songs, from Wonderwall and Creep to Valerie and Cupid’s Chokehold, with a wonderful performance of Low by Flo-Rida by Sophia, Perrie and Louis, complete with dance moves.

Sophia and Liam are caught out being “disgusting and cute”, Sophia’s tiny frame perched on Liam’s lap, so Niall takes it upon himself to begin a rousing rendition of Be My Baby by The Ronettes. It’s perhaps a strange choice but Harry secretly loves the song, so he’s happy.

_ “The night we met I knew I needed you so, and if I had the chance I'd never let you go…” _ Niall croons in an exaggerated baritone.

_ “So won't you say you love me, I'll make you so proud of me!” _ Perrie joins in, clutching at her chest dramatically as she bellows out the line, everyone else joining in for the next line, leading into the chorus.

_ “We'll make 'em turn their heads, every place we go, so won’t you please-” _ Niall carries on, at the top of his voice, before everyone else joins in with him at the chorus.

_ “Be my, be my baby, be my little baby! My one and only baby!” _

_ “Say you’ll be my darlin’!” _ Niall twangs loudly in the momentary pause. Apparently the Ronettes were a country and western band. Harry throws his head back with laughter, still singing.

_ “I'll make you happy, baby, just wait and see! For every kiss you give me, I'll give you three,” _ Harry, confident now, carries the next verse, Perrie and Sophia clapping along out of sync with each other. He blushes incredibly as a few voices drop out and he is cheered and whooped along. He carries on singing, his semi-serious voice the polar opposite of Liam and Niall’s fake Southern accents. " _ Oh, since the day I saw you, I have been waiting for you! You know I will adore you 'til eternity!” _

Then, two things happen at once: he catches Louis’ eye, and he stops signing abruptly. The others carry on singing out-of-tune around him, but he’s locked in place by the boy’s eyes. Louis smiles at him softly; just a fleeting, blink-and-you’d-miss-it kind of thing. But it happened. Harry feels too momentarily struck down to carry on, though Zayn and Liam both jostle him from either side and manage to get him swaying and waving his hands in the air from side to side again.

Louis and Perrie have been clinging to each other like limpets for most of the night; but it’s abundantly clear from the off that theirs is a great friendship but there is nothing more there. They sit on a row of damp, weather beaten railway sleepers that divide the beach into two sections; Perrie’s infectious laugh rings out for miles as something goes on that Harry is too tipsy to understand. He only just looks over in time to see Louis and Perrie go flying off their makeshift seats backwards, shrieking and howling with laughter as they land with muffled thumps. Louis pops up from the other side with Perrie under his arm and a clump of sand in his hair shouting ‘oh my God’ over and over.

Louis falls from the same spot three more times over the course of their stint on the beach. “ _ Why _ is no one helping me?” He shrieks dramatically, but even caring Liam has grown tired of his foolishness.

“Tommo, you’ve fallen off there four times now, no one cares!”

“Fine, leave me to die here! Thanks, Liam, that’s just fine!” Louis yells as he clambers to his feet, again. Harry smiles to himself as he watches Louis dust the damp sand off his knees with his small, delicate hands.

And though it feels like a never-ending fairy tale, in reality they’re on the beach no longer than forty-five minutes. It’s cold and the wind howls off the sea; the twinkling lights in the distance look warm and inviting in their different orange hues, but in reality there is no warmth gained from them.

Everyone is milling around, doing their own thing and trying to coordinate some sort of plan for sleeping, so Harry steps aside for a moment, leaving Sophia and Liam jostling each other playfully and Niall offering Perrie his hoodie.

Harry walks out towards the water a bit further, unable to control his feet sliding in the sand underneath him. His bum hits the deck rather unceremoniously and he peeks over his shoulder to see if anyone bore witness to the incident. The sand is wet and cold and it seeps through his jeans in an instant, but he’s rather too drunk at this moment to try getting back up again. The gradual slope that had caught him out makes a pretty good seat, actually, so he digs his heels into the soggy sand and loops his arms loosely around his knees.

The uncoordinated slap of drunken footsteps approaches behind him after a few moments. "Hi."

Harry peers over his shoulder, squinting against the wind that cuts him at just the wrong angle down here. It’s Louis; he’s wearing a Fenchurch hoodie that is presumably Ed’s, the hood up and the toggles pulled tight so all Harry can see is Louis’ eyes and nose. His hands are bunched into his jacket pockets, and it’s a snug fit over the bulky hoodie. His shoulders droop and he slides down the sand slope much more gracefully than Harry had, managing to stay on his feet and coming to a stop in a little flurry of sludgy sand.

"Can I sit with you?" Louis asks, wriggling his neck so his face is freed from the material.

"I wouldn't, I've got a wet arse from sittin' here," Harry says frankly, and Louis throws back his head and laughs. The chuckle catches in the wind and travels away from them quickly.

"That’s okay, I guess we can just have wet arses together.” Louis says as he curls himself down and sits cross legged next to Harry, leaning forward on his elbows and looking out to sea. “Y’know, so you don’t look so silly on your own."

_ Silly _ , Harry thinks to himself. How endearingly cute.

“Was a good night, huh?” Louis continues, still looking ahead. Harry wonders which part of the scenery catches Louis’ eyes first. Was it the jittery reflection of the moon on the swaying water, or was it the glowing townscape on the horizon, like Harry had noticed first. He turns his head and sees the wistful, contented half-smile on Louis’ lips. He nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah, it was a laugh.”

“I liked your singing back there,” Louis says, nodding his head back to the beach behind them, where they’d all been gathered.

Harry giggles disjointedly; his go-to reaction to compliments. “Oh God no, it’s just the booze making me sound good. Beer goggles. Well, whatever the listening equivalent of beer goggles is. Beer... headphones? I dunno...”

Louis laughs too but he’s shaking his head. “You should sing more often, you’re good. Better than old grap-boy, anyway. All he does is talk into the mic.”

Harry is deeply affected by Louis both complimenting him - again -  _ and _ remembering the word Harry’d made up earlier on in the night. He hopes he’s not blushing but he knows he’s blushing. “You’re just saying that.”

They look at each other for a moment, sitting there on the seafront, the wind whistling around them, bums damp and cold. Ironically enough, Louis doesn’t say anything else for a while. They just sit there silently, a lot of things unsaid and brief moments where they both turn to smile coyly at each other at the same time.

“You’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen,” Louis tells him, obviously very drunk. Louis leans in to him, close enough that Harry can smell the booze and his aftershave. “Did you know that?”

Harry can feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment despite how desperately cold it is here on the shore. “You’re just drunk.”

Louis sighs. “Yes I am,” He clicks his tongue. “But I am sure that you are gorgeous. I’m not blind. Take the compliment.”

“Fine,” Harry rolls his eyes, maddeningly endeared. “Thank you, Louis.”

“Loooo-eh,” Louis echoes, nudging Harry’s shoulder with his temple then straightening up again. “Loooo-eh. I like that, how you say m’name. Sounds nice.”

“Thanks.”

“It looks good, in your mouth. My name. Me. In your mouth.”

_ Jesus _ , Harry thinks to himself. He’s going to explode at any moment; literally and metaphorically.

“How wet is your arse?” Louis asks, and it’s so sudden and unexpected that the moment is entirely snapped in half in an instant. Harry dissolves into laughter and Louis watches him almost smugly with a grin, obviously a bit proud of making him laugh. God.

“Your eyes catch fire when you laugh,” Louis tells him. It’s the most poetic thing Harry has ever heard. “Did you know that? Your eyes are such a lovely shade of green; they make all the other greens look like shite.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Louis replies almost instantly, and then, “Can I kiss you?”

Harry slows down, swallowing deep. Shit, his nerves immediately leap back up to the surface. This will only be his third kiss ever. Louis will be only the second person to ever kiss him. Maybe the last... Harry nods minutely, feeling numb and unsure if Louis even noticed, but then he leans in and... Louis tastes like sweet apples and then the quirk of the alcohol hits Harry’s tongue. He notices the bottle of Apple Sourz next to Louis’ leg and that explains the fruity taste.

Louis is the most curious mix of gentle and persuasive, leading the kiss but working his tongue with Harry’s so delicately it’s almost like a whisper. He feels Louis smiling against his lips and they separate; Louis stresses his bottom lip between his teeth and Harry’s own lips tingle with the contact. That kiss has wiped the previous two kisses right off the score sheet; obliterating their credibility in a heartbeat.

“Wow,” Louis says before leaning in again, this time just to press one lingering, solitary kiss on his lips. The softness of his cushiony lips matched with the acidity of the booze and the prickle of Louis’ facial hair is a lot for Harry to get his brain around.

Wow indeed.

“Oi! Lovebirds!” Niall’s Irish lilt carries over to them on the breeze and Louis again smiles against his skin.

“C’mon.” Louis springs to his feet without even using his arms for leverage – what kind of sorcery!? – and holds out a hand for Harry. Tentatively, he reaches out, pausing for a moment before taking Louis’ palm in his. This is the first time they’ll touch, he wants to savour this moment and bask in the build up to it for just a second longer. Hoping his own palms aren’t too sweaty, he takes Louis’ hand and hauls himself up off the sand.

He hesitates for a moment before they drop hands. He goes automatically to dust off his bum and the wet arse gag ends up being a running joke between them for the next year or more.

Perrie and Sophia sleep side by side across the front seat of the van, with an extremely drunk Niall falling asleep sat upright in the passenger seat footwell, his head lolling back to rest on Perrie’s shin. Everyone else (Ed still hasn’t shown but Scott returns looking rather pissed off) somehow manage to fit into the back, between the stray bottles, guitar cases and microphone stands.

The last lingering scraps of adrenaline are fighting against Harry and his state of sheer exhaustion. It’s cold and it’s cramped in the van and there is zero comfort; it smells and Scott snores loudly, making the whole place shudder. Harry doesn’t like sleeping on his back but there is no room to move. The only scope for movement he has is extending his right leg until it comes into contact with the corner of a Marshall amp.

He squeezes his eyes shut determinedly and tries again, trying to block out the sound of snoring and farting with the memory of how Louis’ voice had sounded in his ear; his soft, rounded words with their natural buoyancy and his relaxed, slightly high-pitched way of expressing himself.

He’s just about to maybe drift off when he feels an ice cold hand wrap around his; deft fingers with nails bitten right down slot in between his and his eyes fly open. He peers over and sees Louis also lying awake, arranged awkwardly around the amp in a C shape. As Harry's brain catches up to the rest of him, Louis squeezes his hand in his a bit tighter and Harry brushes his thumb over the knuckle of Louis' index finger three times. They share a small smile and fall asleep hand in hand.

They wake later that morning after universally crap sleeps in the cold hard light of the day; hangovers, aching bodies and Scott and Liam pacing the car park trying to reach Ed. Zayn, Niall and the girls wander off to try and find a corner shop open before 9am on a Sunday, and in all the hubbub, no one notices Harry and Louis have stayed in the back of the van.

With more space thanks to the mass exodus, between the amp and Ed's guitar case, they press soft good morning kisses into each other’s lips; bodies lying parallel and warm together, Harry's hand cupping Louis' cheek and Louis softly massaging the swell of his bum as his tongue slips past his lips into his mouth.

 

*

 

The next weekend after returning from Southend they all go out again.

The Wednesday of the following week, he and Louis go out alone.

That same week, on Saturday, they went to the cinema together and in the darkened room in plush flip-down chairs, Louis moved into Harry’s heart and he never left.

 

 

**2 July 2008 | The First Date**

“I’m buying, honestly. I messed this night up; I’m definitely paying for your crappy McDonalds.”

“Don’t let  _ them _ hear you say that,” Louis says softly, his eyes shifting towards the two teenagers behind the counter.

They’ve ended up in McDonalds, completely  _ not _ what Harry had planned and his dreams of wooing Louis with a nice meal somewhere grown up are completely shot.

Harry smiles miserably. “Good point. So what do you fancy?”

Louis looks like he might’ve wanted to make a joke, but he doesn’t. “Ummm…”

“Big Mac, McNuggets, chicken burger?” Harry throws out a few suggestions as he stares up at the menu boards above their heads.

“Chicken burger?” Louis repeats, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

“Uh-” Louis breaks into a grin and Harry feels himself melting like ice on a sunny day. “Okay,  _ not  _ chicken burger? Cheeseburger?”

“I knew that’s what you meant to say,” Louis says with a grin that makes Harry forget what day it is for a second.

Louis unhooks his fingers from Harry’s belt loop and looks around. There’s a booth tucked away in the corner. “Shall I go save that table? You’ll be okay here?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Harry nods, feeling cold where Louis’ body heat was one brushed up against his side. “Wait, hang on, what drink do you want?”

Louis begins to move away from him though, throwing a gaze over his shoulder. “Take a lucky guess, babe.”

_ Babe, _ Harry thinks to himself. It plays over and over again as he stands there, in the middle of McDonalds, probably definitely falling for this boy he’s only met three times. He has to battle to keep the smile off the corners of his mouth as he orders the food.

He plonks the tray down on the table with Louis compacted into the very corner of the booth, one leg up on the seat and arms wrapped around his knee. He looks so small.

“I got you a chocolate milkshake,” Harry says as he sits down himself, shuffling across the faux leather bench. “I hope that’s okay?”

Louis’ eyes light up as he reaches across for the cup and stabs the straw through the lid maniacally. “Perfect choice! Thank you.”

Relief washes over Harry, as ridiculous as that is, and he settles down a bit. He still feels a bit out of breath and a bit fidgety, but ten minutes sat opposite Louis chatting easily soon calms him down.

He learns a lot about Louis. He’s twenty one, a Christmas Eve baby, has four sisters including twins, and he’s probably technically bi although he’s not one hundred percent sure he likes or fits that label. He hated school and didn’t do well, preferring to, quote  _ ’piss about and make the teachers lives hell’ _ , though he regrets it now. He claims not to have a dad, although of course he  _ does _ have one, obviously, but Harry doesn’t press at all. His own divorced parents are a touchy subject so he doesn’t want to make Louis tell him anything he doesn’t want to.

He feels a bit ridiculous telling Louis about himself. He doesn’t have an interesting birthday, he only has one boring sister to talk about and he was annoyingly well behaved and academically driven in school and college. He doesn’t want to admit to never having had a boyfriend, much less that he hasn't slept with anyone yet, so he masks it with a flippant remark about just being 'boring and gay'. Louis laughs at him and insists that it's not boring.

“Not boring at all, in fact, very  _ un _ -boring, in my opinion!”

Harry snorts, hoping that the table nearest them can’t pick up what they’re alluding to.

Louis slurps his milkshake up through his straw so fast that Harry’s just waiting for him to yell ‘brain freeze!’ but he doesn’t. Drawing a line under the pseudo-sex talk, Harry asks about Louis’ legion of sisters.

“Oh, well Lottie – or Charlotte - is oldest, she was born when I was four so she’s about to be eighteen, God help us all, then Fiz – that’s not her real name, it’s Felicite – is sixteen next month. The twins are Phoebe and Daisy, they’re… twelve? No, eleven. I think. They’re good girls. Not sure how I ended up with so many sisters. Though I dunno if I’d want a brother now; this way I’m always the favourite son! God, sorry, I’m waffling I am. You can tell me to shut up at any time, by the way. I won’t be offended.”

Harry doesn’t mind. “I don’t mind.”  _ I could listen to you talk all night. _ “I can’t imagine having such a big family. Must be constantly on the go at yours?”

Louis laughs. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s all I’ve ever know though, y’know? Like, noise and arguing and shouting and crying. And that’s just me!”

Harry cackles. He hadn’t meant to. He clamps a hand around his embarrassed mouth.

“No but seriously, it’s good. I love it that way, wouldn’t swap ‘em. Mum’s a diamond honestly. She’s always done her best for us, ever since… well, the girls’ dad left when the twins were four. We always had toys an’ that. Like, they’d be from the charity shop and have ‘part of a 12 piece set’ written on it and we’d only have three bits, but it was enough, y’know?”

Harry nods fondly. The way Louis talks about his family is magical, really. His eyes light up and his Yorkshire accent strengthens; Harry imagines Louis can hear their voices in his head and see their images behind his eyes when he talks about them.

“Anyway, enough of that.” Louis says dismissively, as if he might be a bit embarrassed at going on for so long. Harry wishes he could make it clear just how un-sorry he should feel.

“What’s your favourite colour then?” Harry asks, keen to keep up their get to know you session.

Louis rolls his eyes at the lame question. “Rubbish question, mate.”

“Just answer it!” Harry says, reaching over to dip his chip in Louis’ ketchup pot.

“Oi!” Louis tries to bat his hand away. “Well, my favourite colour is burgundy, actually. What about yours?”

Harry is impressed. He was expecting something boring like red or blue or green. Harry is  _ impressed _ by  _ burgundy _ . God, this boy is really getting under his skin.

“Turquoise,” He says plainly.

“Really?” Louis asks, nodding as if impressed too.

_ Yeah it’s the colour your eyes went in the pub last weekend when you laughed so much you were crying,  _ Harry thinks but he doesn’t say it. Not just yet, anyway. “Yeah, colour of the sea, innit?”

“Yeah, if you live in the Mediterranean. That sea down Southend was far from turquoise. More… steely grey.”

Harry smirks. “Midnight blue.”

That gets a big laugh out of Louis, and he tries not to feel  _ too _ proud.

“What about favourite food?” Harry asks once Louis has calmed down.

Louis looks down at the remnants of what’s left of his McDonalds and nods at it. “No, actually, changed my mind. Bacon sarnies. No-no, actually, me mum’s Sunday roast. Definitely.”

“Final answer?”

He smiles, all crinkly and narrow eyes. “Yes. What about you?”

Harry shrugs. “Same I guess. Can’t beat a Sunday roast.”

They pause again to finish eating. His chips are a little cold now and he wonders if Louis’ are too as he discreetly watches him pick at a few then finish his cheeseburger.

“I’m so sorry, again. This isn’t what I had in mind at all. I can’t believe I didn’t even think we’d need a reservation. It’s bloody Wednesday night for God–”

“Stop worryin’ your head, Starry Eyes. I  _ love _ this, I promise.”

Harry is still feeling destroyed by his own disappointment in the failure of his first real attempt at impressing someone, but he swallows it down and nods, looking up across at Louis. “I suppose it’s better than nothing.”

He wants to say he’s glad to be  _ anywhere _ with Louis, considering he could’ve taken one look at his pathetic, idiotic face outside the restaurant they’d been rejected from this evening and told him to sling his hook.

“Absolutely,” Louis says, shovelling a handful of salty, cold chips into his mouth. “I’m always up for a cheeseburger, me. In fact, I’m probably better suited to McDonalds than some posh restaurant. Not that I’d say no if you wanted to take me there again _. With _ a reservation, of course.”

“Oh so there’s gonna be a next time, is there?” Harry questions, feeling his heart pick up again. He's surprised the poor organ doesn't have whiplash from all the back and forth. Harry feels giddy at the prospect of another date with Louis.

“Yeah I think so,” Louis seems confident. “Do you want there to be a next time?”

Harry nods bashfully into his shoulder, hoping his cheeks aren’t pinking up and betraying him.

Louis makes a content little noise and they sit in silence for a while. It’s pretty busy still around them; families with kids devour Happy Meals and scribble crayons onto paper until it rips. Staff mill around clearing empty tables and refilling the straw dispenser. The world is still turning around them and life is carrying on for all of these people, but for Harry it feels like he and Louis are the only two people in the world. Their imperfect first date, that had caused him such heartache to begin with, has turned out actually all right.

“What’re you day dreaming about?” Louis’ voice, softer and bouncier than he has ever heard it before, shakes him from his reverie, with the soft warmth of Louis’ palm atop his.

“Sorry, I was miles away.”

“I could tell,” Louis says, running his thumb around his knuckle and then withdrawing his hand to pick up his milkshake. He chews on the straw as they chat a bit more. McDonald’s empties around them as they drink another milkshake each and delve into all the corners and crevices of their lives before they met. Harry confesses how small his friendship group is and the fact that the majority of the people he spends his time with are either grown adults or family members, and Louis reassures him that there is nothing wrong with that. After not too long at all, it doesn’t feel as if they’ve ever  _ not _ known each other.

 

 

**20 December 2008 | Home**

Moving in together in December is idiotic; both of their mothers had been horrified and tried to advise them against it. Harry knows now how stupid they’d been to do it on the tail end of a snow storm and not only that but it’s really close to the dreaded C-Word (and in their case, Louis’ twenty second birthday) and it’s cold outside and dark by 3pm. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind time, culminating in them moving in together one day shy of exactly six months after meeting.

It's quarter to midnight on the end of moving day. There are still boxes everywhere. The only room anywhere near resembling finished is the bathroom and that’s because all its furniture was already there. Their mums have just left, empty Chinese takeaway containers crushed into a rubbish bag hanging off the kitchen door handle.

Harry’s in the kitchen when Louis finds him. He’s got the cutlery soaking in bubbly water and oven cleaner stinking out the whole place. An opened box of Honey Cheerios, a spaghetti drainer and a potato masher decorate the recently Dettoled surfaces; all very important, of course.

“I found an old radio in the cupboard.” Harry tells Louis proudly as he steps into the room and pushes the door closed softly.

Louis hums a soft _ ’oh?’ _ and watches Harry closely as he lifts the dust-riddled, ancient old thing up, pulls out the aerial and turns it on its side looking for an on switch. Louis ducks out his way as he almost takes his eye out with the aerial.

“Sorry love,” Harry murmurs as he finds a switch. He flicks it and nothing happens. Harry taps the battery cover with his fingers. Doesn’t feel empty. Feeling perplexed, he finds a turning wheel and spins it until it clicks and the sound of snowy static fills the room, sounding extra tinny with the emptiness of their new flat. His fingers brush over another dial on the other side and the radio tuner marker begins to move. The static changes, the odd coil of sound blurts out as Harry rotates the dial with the pad of his thumb, and he slows down as disjointed and unrecognisable noises begin to filter through.

Finally, the static gives way to the opening bars of Make You Feel My Love by Adele. Harry smiles, very satisfied with the song choice. He only just gets the device onto a solid surface before Louis’ arms are around him, their bodies pressed together and Louis’ head resting just under his chin so Harry can smell his hair. It’s a bit musky and a bit dull from a day of moving house, but the Shea butter undertones are still there. Louis’ temple, cheekbone and jaw press against his chest as he snuggles in, his arms wrapped tightly around Harry’s middle.

As Adele sings of rain and warm embraces, shadows and stars, Harry brings his arms up around Louis, around his shoulders. They sway ever so slightly side to side and then back in forth, in tiny almost-discernible circles as the song continues. It’s freezing with all the windows open and the heating not on, but here in Louis’ arms Harry feels safer and warmer and happier than he ever has done before.

This boy in his arms has everything; his heart, all of his love, he knows the most intimate corners of him and now their home is with each other. Harry hopes it will always be this way.

 

*

 

Having a flat warming party was Niall’s idea. Harry had been reluctant. Well, Sober Harry had been reluctant, but Drunk Harry is of course very drunk and is now having a  _ whale _ of a time. Everyone around him is very drunk too, and Harry is currently yelling at the top of his voice to anyone that will listen that the greatest karaoke song of all time is the piano version of Everytime We Touch by Cascada. No-one, apart from Niall it seems, happens to agree with him, and Louis is currently pretending not to know him.

Many, many drinks are consumed and Harry can’t picture their brand new flat ever looking tidy again. Harry had never thrown a house party before, even when his mum was away; he remembered sitting in his room age 12 when Gemma was throwing parties, the back of his desk chair wedged under the door handle just in case any of Gemma’s mates tried to get in his room.

Perrie had dyed her hair purple a few weeks previously and it’s just starting to fade out to a lovely silvery bluish-lavender. It’s curly and she has a silver headband with a jewel hanging down from her centre parting, like a Snow Queen or something. She and Louis twirl around, both somehow covered in glitter, dancing and drinking and throwing their heads back and laughing at jokes only they can understand.

Atomic by Blondie plays through the iPod dock, and Louis spins Perrie around, clearing a space in the middle of the living room just with their movements. He personally serenades her, voice chiming out over the music to  _ ”your hair is beautiful, oh tonight! Atomic!” _

Somewhere along the line, Harry is distracted and loses sight of Louis, which he supposes isn’t hard to do. He spies a space on the sofa become available and launches himself at it before anyone can beat him to it.

He plants himself deep into the cushion and stares for far longer than is necessary at the headline on the front of the Woman’s Own magazine that his mum had left behind on moving day - ' _ Shot by my sister’s brother-in-law on my wedding day!’ _ . He tries desperately to get his alcohol-soaked brain cells to make sense of it.

“Huh?” He mutters to himself, bemused. He tries to figure out how the shooter and the storyteller were related, were they brother and sister, were they in laws - cousins? God he’s too drunk for this. Huffing loudly in confusion, he bats his hand at the magazine and looks around.

“Ah ha! Here he is!” He beams to himself as his  _ very _ drunk and  _ very _ bouncy boyfriend appears in the middle of the crowd like God parting the Red Sea.

“Hey gorgeous,” Louis plops himself down onto Harry’s lap, legs stretching his legs out sideways and slipping an arm around his neck. “Where’ve you been, I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve been here, babe.” Harry says, smiling into Louis’ shoulder. It’s been about ten minutes, if that. “Waiting on you coming back to me.”

“I’m here now,” Louis says triumphantly, holding up his glass to Harry so he can have some too. Louis is drinking vodka Red Bull,  _ warm _ vodka Red Bull at that, through a straw. Harry chases the straw around the tall glass with his tongue, aware of Louis watching him closely. He takes a small sip and swallows it down with a shudder.

Louis laughs softly and then rests the glass on his knee as he leans in to kiss Harry, the tips of their noses touching. Louis’ is cold.

“Cold nose.”

“Warm heart.”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes, Lou.”

Louis shrugs. He stares him down for a moment, his eyes a little cloudy, like concentrating is taking all of his strength. Plainly, he says, “Green eyes.”

Harry smiles and blinks his green eyes a few times. “Yep.”

“My favourite eyes, green, y’know?”

Harry does know. Louis might’ve mentioned it once or twice before. “Thank you.”

Louis reaches out dopily and cups his hand around the nearest side of Harry’s face, guiding his attention in his direction. He extends his thumb across Harry’s cheek and brushes it across the very corner of his mouth. Instinctively, he wets his dry lips with his tongue, the minute breaths that spill from them are cool with the moisture.

“Pink. So, so pink. Pink to make the boys wink.” Louis says, giggling at himself. Harry is so endeared.

“Only one boy.”

“Good,” Louis says decisively, removing his hand and forming a point with his index finger, dragging it along underneath the jut of Harry’s bottom lip. “All mine.”

Harry murmurs a hoarse affirmation.

“Pink,” He leans in and presses one kiss to Harry’s parted lips. He pulls back and moves his same finger up to around Harry’s eyes again, running the tip of his finger around the socket of his right eye, so delicately it almost tickles. “And green.”

“Lou…”

Harry watches Louis swallow thickly. “Like my own little watermelon, aren’t you?”

Harry snorts softly in the back of his throat. It should’ve ruined the moment but it really didn’t. “Shut up an’ gimme another kiss.”

And Louis does so unquestioningly. He’s sure somewhere in the not-too-distant background he can hear people cheering, the odd wolf-whistle. He grins against his boyfriends lips, unable to feel embarrassed though.

“We’ve got our own fan club,” Louis says, right in his ear but loud as if he is shouting from across the world.

“And Niall is the president of it,” Harry says back, softer. Louis’ eyes light up as he hears what Harry says and tips his head back to laugh. Harry sort of wants to devour his neck.

Instead, he looks over at Niall, Louis following his gaze and humming contently to himself. The Irish boy has a can of Budweiser in one hand and an orange Bacardi Breezer in the other. He lifts the hand with the beer in greeting, winks and lets out an almighty ‘wahooo!’ before turning back to his old mates from college that’d somehow found their way in.

That night, things feel perfect. From start to finish, everything is backlit with warm light that’s soft like a cloud; expensively lavish like pure gold and nothing can touch them. They’re invincible.

They finally begin to see people bidding them farewell at about 2am; people stagger down the stairs shushing each other but only making things worse; falling about in fits of laughter.

They both bat uninterested hands at the mess and stumble back towards their bedroom; the living room light still on. Louis palms at his cock through his jeans as they crash through the flat towards the bedroom, and has the top button of his jeans unbuttoned and a purple lovebite still forming on his neck when they finally collapse onto their bed. Well. The bed isn’t made yet – literally. All they have currently is their mattress with a fitted sheet and a duvet without a cover; it’s a long way as they tumble down.

“Ooof, fuckin’ ‘ell!” Louis splutters with a harrumph as they hit the deck. The mattress is little protection given the height and speed of their fall.

“Sorry!” Harry exclaims, his hair falling forward into his face. He attempts to blow a strand out of the way but it goes nowhere.

Louis clambers to his knees and throws a clumsy leg over Harry’s body. He pins him in place with his thighs and Harry couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He shuffles down a bit and begins to tackle the button on his jeans. Harry lifts his bum up as Louis tugs his jeans and boxers down, his cock bouncing up off his tummy and standing to attention for Louis.

Louis gets him wet with spit and they spend a frantic few minutes searching through the box marked ‘bathroom stuff’ for the lube. They’d been especially careful to hide all of that stuff away from their mum’s, who were only too happy to help unpack boxes. Harry would die on the spot if his mum or Jay found lube or a stray forgotten about condoms, so the labels on the lube bottles had been peeled off and they’d stuffed them inside socks, hidden them in a box that used to have Christmas tree lights in, Sellotaped the box up and hoped for the best. They’d made the mutual decision to bin all the condoms they’d got from the clinic, too -  _ ("I’ve obviously only been with you, and you're clear, right?” “Yeah, of course, I only want you. Let’s just bin them now.”) _

Louis rips apart the box with superhuman strength, determination and overwhelming desire obviously winning out. He opens himself up as Harry watches, stupefied and wide eyed, before waking up enough to help with the addition of one finger.

They Christen their new flat with Louis riding Harry into the mattress, a lot drunk and a bit uncoordinated, Louis’ t-shirt stretched out of shape by Harry tugging on it and hanging off Louis’ shoulders revealing his sweat-sheened collar bones as he moves.

He throws his head back and bites down on his bottom lip as he channels himself back into finding his rhythm, just a few more bounces afforded to them before Harry grips his thighs with an urgent look, a stifled cry and Harry goes blind as he comes hard inside of Louis, bare for only the second time ever.

Louis crashes down breathlessly on top of him, their hearts banging against their chest walls, and against each other. The blood soars through Harry noisily; filling him with air and making him feel weightless as he lays there. He slips out of Louis naturally when the boy on top of him eventually begins to move, settling in next to him on the mattress.

“Love you.”

“I love you too.”

Two days later, on Louis’ 22nd birthday, Harry buys a cake from Tesco and tops it with the only candle he could find in the flat; a cherry blossom scented Yankee Candle votive.

 

 

**11 March 2009 | Home?**

Harry hadn’t been able to bite his tongue. Liam and PES 2009 are paused in the living room and he and Louis are in the kitchen with the door slammed aggressively closed.

“What, do you have a problem with Liam now?” Louis spits accusingly, folding his arms across his body, effectively shutting Harry off from him and leaning back against the kitchen counter. Yesterday’s dirty dinner plates are still stacked on the side, along with a pint glass with just a slurp of Coke left in the bottom.

“No, of course I don’t,” Harry hisses, wishing Louis would keep it down. There’s absolutely no other noise in the flat to dilute the sounds of their argument and the false accusations Louis is throwing about.

“Well, looks and sounds like it, mate.”

_ Mate. _ The word makes Harry’s skin crawl. He  _ hates _ it when Louis calls him mate. He knows Louis does it just to spite him.

“I just… wasn’t expecting it, y’know? Thought we’d have a night in. A quiet one, I’m knackered from work and-”

“Oh, and I suppose I wouldn’t know how that feels, would I?” Louis snaps defensively.

“Did I say that?” Harry asks with a huff. They’ve argued about this before, countless times, but Harry hadn’t even been thinking that this time, actually. He rakes both hands through his hair as if putting it up in a ponytail and then lets the strands fall limp again.

“No, but you might as well have,” Louis spits. “You do seem to enjoy bringing it up at any given opportunity.”

“All I meant was I just wanted a quiet night in.” Harry says, pointedly ignoring what Louis had said. He’s trying to goad Harry into starting a fight and he won’t do it, not with Liam in the other room.

“This is a quiet night in; it’s just a bit of Xbox, it’s hardly the front line!”

“But…” Harry feels his throat quiver. He hadn’t anticipated such a flippant response from Louis. Louis speaks again before Harry has the chance.

“Go to bed if you’re tired, Harry. I’m not stopping you, just get off my case. Come and join us, or go to bed, or whatever, I don’t give a fuck.”

Louis’ words knock Harry for six and he’s not sure if he meant them to have such power, but he stalks off, out of the kitchen leaving Harry alone. He doesn’t once look back or come to check he’s okay or see if he is going to join him and Liam. Harry stands there, staring into space as tears that he tries to suppress but can’t form in his eyes, stinging and burning. He blinks them away furiously, determined not to let Louis upset him. He stands and does the washing up, just to try and prove a point, before bolting the front door, kicking his shoes off onto the doormat and stepping silently into their bedroom.

Louis doesn’t appear once.

 

*

 

Louis comes to bed just after two. Harry had been awake the entire time; he heard footsteps outside in the hallway going to and from the loo every once in a while, but if it was Louis, he didn’t stop. Outbursts of laughter and a bit of shouting had chimed out from the living room every once in a while, but again, no Louis.

He’d listened as Liam left. He and Louis had done their best to subdue their chatter but Harry could still hear every word. Neither boy mentions Harry at all. Harry isn’t sure if he is surprised or not, and feels momentarily maybe a bit conceited for expecting his name to come up.

Louis shuffles around for a bit before the door creaks open slowly and he steps into the room. Harry, who is facing away from the door, clamps his eyes closed and pretends to be asleep. It’s dark but he’s turned away from Louis so it probably doesn’t matter anyway.

Louis is heavy on his feet as he pads around the room, and even heavier on his knees as he drops into bed. He curls himself around Harry and buries his face into the space between the pillow and Harry’s neck. He’ll have to come up for air soon; he always does this and ends up muttering that he’s hot and can’t breathe.

Predictably, a few seconds later Louis re-surfaces, flinging himself onto his back and pulling the duvet cover up to his shoulders, but Harry doesn’t miss the delicate kiss Louis leaves in the centre of his shoulder blades first.

 

 

**22 October 2009 | Louis’ New Job**

Louis has a job; an actual honest-to-God job. Sure, barman isn’t quite the ideal Harry had been hoping for all these months but it’s a job and that’s all that matters.

At least, that’s what Harry had thought. But it’s been three weeks of Louis going out before eight and being out all night, coming in at one and two in the morning. He doesn’t like it, of course, but it’s not like he can ask Louis to quit his job after he made all that fuss about him getting one in the first place. That’s what Harry tells himself.

He watches Louis pull himself up off the sofa and start wandering around, beginning to get ready. He peers at his reflection in the mirror above the gas fire, fiddling with his fringe until it lies just right across his forehead. Then he disappears without a word, coming back from the bedroom a while later smelling of aftershave and with his black round neck t-shirt on, clutching his jacket.

“I’m off now.”

Harry pauses before he answers, longer than he should have. “Okay.”

“Okay? What’s ‘okay’? What’s the attitude for now?”

“I haven’t got an attitude.”

“You’ve got a face like a slapped arse.”

“I haven’t,” Harry argues at the same second Louis says “Yes you have.”

“I’m fed up of spending all night on my own.”

“Well bugger me Harry, you’re the one who asked me to get a proper job! I’m working, Harry, it’s what you wanted!”

“Yeah, but-” Harry’s heart sinks; exactly what he  _ hadn’t _ wanted to say has come out. He knows he’s setting off on shaky ground with unsteady footing. “I see you for two hours between me getting in and you going out.”

“I have Mondays and Tuesdays off.”

Harry shrugs petulantly. He can almost feel the irritation simmering off Louis.

“Harry, what the fuck honestly, I just can’t win with you, can I? You want me to get off me arse an’ get a job so I do it but it’s  _ still _ not fucking good enough for you! Is anything I do ever gonna be enough Harry?”

“No that’s-”

“No, tell me! What the fuck is your problem?”

“Nothing, just forget I said anything.”

Harry doesn’t have a problem, aside from the fact that he can’t get himself straight. He’d wanted Louis to get another job, a steadier job, which he had done, but then he was alone all evening five nights a week and that wasn’t right either.

“No!” Louis cried incredulously. “I won’t! You can’t just say ‘forget it’ every time. You obviously have a problem with me, why not just tell me?”

“Do they know about me?” Harry blurts out, feeling something break and release inside him with an irrational spike of jealousy. Louis snaps back in surprise, an angered twist painted onto his features.

“What the fuck does that have to do with ‘owt?” Harry flinches miserably and tells himself Louis didn’t mean for that to sound quite as uncaring as it did.

“Well, have you or not? Do they know about you?”

“What are you on about? Do they know what about me?”

“I bet they love it, someone who can reel in the girls  _ and _ the guys. Great for business, that.” Harry mutters, quiet enough that he almost hopes Louis doesn’t hear him. But, he does of course.

Harry can’t breathe; he’s in too deep now. Things have snowballed out of his control. Louis looks like he’s going to explode, and rightly so really. “What, so you're saying that because I’m bisexual, they shouldn’t gimme a job?”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Harry says, as if that will make it any better.

“So how  _ did _ you mean it, dickhead?”

Harry doesn’t answer, just sits there staring at his hands, flaring his nostrils and wishing this moment away. As Harry remains silent Louis is blowing up even more, like lava from a volcano that just won’t stop.

“Y’know, for a gay man you’re sounding  _ very _ homophobic right now, Harry, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“It came out wrong, you know I didn’t mean it like that! Obviously!” Harry shouts, teetering at that point between frustration and intense upset. He can feel the tears close but he  _ doesn’t _ want to break down now.

Louis stares at him; blue eyes more ice cold showers than warm swimming pools. Harry wishes he could just bloody articulate himself well enough to let Louis know he misses him when he’s gone; that he wants Louis to himself. He  _ doesn’t _ think he’s going to jump the bones of every man and woman he comes across.

“Do you think I’m gonna shag a girl right there on the pool table? Or… or suck off a bloke in the toilets?”

Harry feels sick; bile is acidic.

“How fucking  _ dare _ you say somethin’ like that to me? I’m with  _ you _ , Harry. Have been for over a year, or did you not realise? Did you think,  _ ’ey up, it’s a bit weird but this lad keeps coming into me house, ‘ere what’s he getting in me bed for’?” _

“No,” Harry feels an inch tall. “Stop being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Louis spits. “You’re the one being fucking stupid, mate, not me! Look, I’ve gotta go now, I’m already late thanks to you. I’ll be home by one.” Louis pulls his beanie over his head, shoves his fingers into gloves and his feet into battered black Vans. “I’ll see you later.”

Louis doesn’t wait long enough for Harry to respond. The door opens and closes with a clunk and Harry is all alone again in the flat. Three levels up and alone.

Maybe if they had a cat he wouldn’t be so lonely. He could die a crazy cat man, alone and dithery while Louis moved from bar to club to venue, serving cocktails and wooing sharply-dressed partygoers.

Harry smokes at the window, not bothering to slip out onto their tiny little balcony. Louis will whinge about it later on but who cares? He smokes down to the roach, taking long, pensive drags and staring at the sights beneath him. Cars parked everywhere, on the dropped kerbs and on driveways, the battered old corrugated roof of the garages, the kicked in bus stop. This flat was their own little patch of heaven in the middle of all this turmoil. Or, it was supposed to be.

Harry traces the pattern of the route Louis walks to the pub with his fingertip in the condensation on the glass. He gets his phone out. He needs Liam. His hand trembles as he waits for Liam to pick up.

“Li, I’ve fucked up.”

Liam hesitates and something around him rustles. “What’s happened?”

He doesn’t even sound surprised to hear Harry’s tale of woe. It never occurs to Harry that he might’ve been interrupting something. He tells Liam about inadvertently implying Louis shouldn’t work in a bar because he’s bi. Even Liam winces at that, and Liam isn’t the best with sexuality stuff himself. But it’s not advice that Harry needs; he just wants someone to listen to his plan. He doesn’t want to know if it’s a good idea or not.

Liam may not necessarily advocate the plan Harry has formed, but Harry is past the point of listening now. He’s out of the door and jogging down the stairs to the ground floor entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his camo bomber jacket - the gloves Louis had taken earlier were Harry’s.

Harry’s only been to this pub once; with Louis before he’d worked here. It’s too far to walk, really, but he smokes the last three fags in his pack as he walks as he has no other choice. Frost that has already settled glistens in the moonlight and it would be quite beautiful if this place wasn’t such a dense urban hellhole.

Harry’s confidence wanes a little the nearer he gets and his chest feels tight with a combination of the journey and his nerves. He’s not been inside, he has no idea what to expect. Come to think about it, what time is it? Will it be busy? It’s Thursday night, and Thursday is the new Friday, according to Gemma’s Cosmo magazine.

Harry pictures velvet on the walls and women cracking whips, people walking around in pleather and gleaming with baby oil. Louis’ probably spinning around on a wooden board while someone dressed in red throws knives. Sure, the peeling paint and hanging basket and sandwich board out the front advertising 2 meals for £10 doesn’t give off the brothel vibe, but you just never know.

Feeling quite sick and a bit regretful now, Harry reaches out and pushes the door open. It swings easily on its hinges and it’s all too simple for him to step inside. He can hear the low mumble of chatter and the din of fruit machines chiming. There’s one more door to push through. An artificial glittery purple cobweb adorns one corner of the vestibule and a pumpkin with a face is stuck on the glass panel of the door, ready for Halloween.

Inside, it’s relatively quiet; just a few groups of people clumped together in the corners, a big guy with a beer gut sat at the bar - definitely no velvet or whip-cracking evident here. Harry suddenly feels very stupid, for coming all the way down here, for the stupid places his brain took him in his assumptions about Louis and this place.

Pushing open the door with his shoulder, Harry steps into the dingy pub. One couple sitting at the circular table just inside the door look up when he enters, but apart from that no one else bats an eyelid. He looks around in panic, thinking maybe he’s got the wrong pub or he’s slipped through a gap in time and Louis isn’t here, then he sees him. He’s all dressed in black, a white dish cloth slung over one shoulder, empty beer glasses clasped between his fingers like a pro. He bobs as he walks, like Louis always does, springing off the God awful patterned carpet. He’s wandering off around the corner of the L-shaped pub, looking for more glasses to collect, probably.

Harry follows him, talking his hands out of his pockets. It’s warm in here, and so bloody cold outside, so his skin prickles with the zigzag in his body temperature. His hands are clammy and his legs feel like lead weights. He watches Louis go to reach for an empty WKD bottle on the table in front of him.

“Lou?” Harry says breathlessly, desperate for his boys’ attention but not sure how to go about it, so just coming out and calling his name will have to do.

Louis looks over his shoulder, frown set deep into his brows. It must take him a second to realise its Harry, then his expression changes to puzzlement. He puts the glasses down on the table top and grips the back of the chair with one hand.

“What are you- why are you so outta breath?”

“I ran.” Harry lies. It’s better than the truth, and it’s only a white lie.

Louis nods, slowly pulling the tea towel off his shoulder. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m sorry.” Harry says, his hope teetering on a knife edge. This will go one of two ways. “I really, really am. I love you.”

But any regret Harry had in coming out here tonight disappear as Louis throws himself at him, smashing his face into his shoulder and gripping around his back with his hands. Louis makes himself small in their embrace, just like he used to, and in that moment everything feels right again. He can feel Louis’ heart hammering through his ribcage and back, and he breathes in the smell of his hair. He smoothes his hand up and down Louis’ back; they rock a little on their feet. Harry keeps his arms around him, and Louis lets his weight fall against Harry’s arm, leaning out and watching him closely.

“I didn’t mean to act like such a knob. I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t appreciate you, because I do. And I'm sorry for saying what I did, about you. I didn't mean it to come out that way, and I know that's no excuse, I'm sorry.”

Louis looks up at him, still quizzical but with the barest hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth. “And you came all the way here to tell me that personally, d’ya?”

Harry nods earnestly. “I was aiming for romantic gesture. Did it work?”

Louis drags out his pause, killing Harry in the process. But then he clicks his tongue and smiles. “Yeah, definitely worked.”

Louis has this habit of rolling his eyes fondly, and Harry bloody loves it. He’s doing it right now, and Harry’s own grin has stretched right across his face and is almost cracking it in half. He keeps Louis in place with one arm and uses the other to reach up to his face, traces the edge of his thumb over his cheekbone and then crooks his forefinger and tilts his chin up.

He keeps it chaste, they are in public after all, but he can’t help himself with Louis. It’s been that way ever since their first kiss in Southend. Their lips match together so well, and he slips his tongue past Louis’ lips, licking into every corner, the muscles moving together. It speeds his heart rate in an instant.

“Harry!” Louis squeals against his lips. “I can’t- stop! I can’t PDA with you, I’m supposed to be working, you’ll get me fired!”

“That’s okay.” Harry says into the soft, warm skin of Louis’ neck, nuzzling him. He smells so good.

 

*

 

Harry waits in the bar area until the end of Louis’ shift; last orders at 10:40, the bar closes at 11 and everyone is out by half past. Louis takes about another half an hour finishing up and cleaning down the sides, a task that could’ve been quicker if Harry hadn’t kept distracting him.

He follows Louis through to the back to where the office and store rooms are; ‘behind the scenes’. Louis leads him to the office - a square room with a filing cabinet, a computer table, six broken down wheelie chairs and an upturned beer keg that acts as a table; some old newspapers, a shoebox full of junk, and some bottles of Diet Coke that are covered in an inch-thick layer of dust.

Louis orders him to sit down and he’ll be as quick as he can, and then they can lock up and go home. Harry manages the first ten minutes or so, looking around the room and fiddling with the crap that is within his reach on the corner of the desk. He can tell he’s being slightly irritating by the way Louis keeps swallowing and closing his eyes for a few moments at a time.

“Almost done, babe?” Harry asks, innocently.

“I just have to do this and then we can go.” Louis tells him, and Harry swings around on his office chair, examining the room. It’s pretty dark, only a chrome effect floor lamp in one corner offering any light, and that bulb is dim at best. He listens to Louis’ foot tap and the whir of the ancient computer.

“Lou?” He asks again, spinning round to face Louis. “Are you done yet?”

“No love, does it look like I’m switching off and packing up?”

“No,” Harry mumbles to himself, sighing. “Sorry.”

The silence continues for a few more minutes; Harry doesn’t have a clue what Louis is doing. He positions his feet between the wheels of the chair and spins himself from left to right, making himself dizzy but that might be the weed. He’s just on the brink of a comedown, and everything feels like it's lagging a bit.

“Harry!” Louis’ voice, an octave or two higher than before, breaks his concentration. He looks up. “Keep still, babe, please?”

Harry sighs and holds up his hands, stopping the movement of his chair. “Sorry!”

“Have you smoked?” Louis eyes him closely, and Harry feels like he’s being told off.

“Maybe…” He says, trying a playful grin. It goes down well.

“And how’re you feelin’?” Louis asks softly with a small raise of his eyebrows.

“Fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep,” He answers, skin starting to prickle on his neck and the palms of his hands. “Really good.”

“Tingly?” Louis asks, and he nods. “Still high?”

“A bit,”

“Horny?” Louis asks, and Harry’s heart automatically starts to hammer harder and faster than he can keep up with. It’s making him feel light headed; he knows Louis is teasing him and he knows that they should resolve their issues better than just diving straight into sex, but he’s licking his lips and has narrowed his eyes and Harry  _ knows _ Louis knows he looks good, so what is he supposed to do?

“Yeah,” He whispers, nodding as well. “What are y-”

“Shhh,” Louis orders him, standing up and pushing his chair away with the backs of his knees. “Get up.”

He pulls on either side of Harry’s bomber as he climbs to his feet, stepping back blindly as Louis pushes him against the filing cabinet, the metallic clang of the studs on his jeans pocket meeting the drawer front. “Lou what-”

Louis silences him with a kiss; it’s fierce and it’s biting and Harry forgets everything else but Louis.

“I’m sorry for the argument,” Louis mumbles against his lips before piecing them back together, slipping his tongue past his lips and tasting him.

“I just miss you when you're not home, baby.” Harry replies, breaking their kiss for a moment and pressing their foreheads together.

“I miss you too, fuck, I do.”

Louis’ hands travel down Harry’s body and come to a rest, sitting urgently on his hips. He then continues down, reaching down and maintaining eye contact the entire time, even in the shadowy darkness of the room. Harry’s breathing quickens again as Louis undoes his jeans, tugs at his boxers and reaches inside, wrapping his hand right around his cock, taking him from curious to rock hard in just three swipes.

“Louis?”

“Mmm?”

“You sure there’s no one here? No cameras?”

“Yeah, positive. Just… just try and be as quiet as you can, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees breathlessly. “I’ll try.”

Harry already feels like he's close, if that's possible. He takes several deep breaths and lifts his gaze to the ceiling to try and quell the sensation some. He looks up at the ceiling; the cobwebs and the crap Artex. He tries not to sing out with relief when he feels Louis loop his thumb and forefinger loosely around the base of his cock and direct the head towards his lips. He lets out a staggered exhale of relief. "Fucking finally."

Louis laughs at him softly, as best he can with his mouth full, and Harry shifts his hips forward involuntarily with the sensation. Louis makes his lips impossibly thick and cushiony, Harry has no idea how, as he suckles on the head, toying with his foreskin that is beginning to gape with the hardening of his cock. It moves with the rhythm of Louis’ sucks and then retracts completely as Louis sinks down the shaft, moving his hand from the base and deep throating him effortlessly. He relaxes the back of his throat around the mass and then comes back up again, sinking back down not a second later with his tongue flat against the underside of Harry’s cock. His hands grip the backs of Harry’s thighs the entire time.

Louis is... well, he’s a master at this, he really is. He can find sweet spots that probably biologists themselves haven't discovered yet, and he makes the most disgustingly horny noises when his mouth is wrapped around Harry's head, sending vibrating tremors right through him to his core.

"Lou, fuck, I'm gonna come, I'm too close."

"Mmmm," Louis agrees as he continues to suck, sinking down all the way so his nose taps against Harry’s tummy, and then back up again with a mind-blowingly skilled flick of his tongue right around and then back down again. He does this three more or maybe ten more times before stilling with Harry right in the back of his throat, clenching his throat so Harry can feel the slight squeeze around his head.

Then, he works up from base to mid-way, keeping his mouth closed and tightly packed, breathing heavily and nosily in his throat. Harry flattens his palms and smacks them back against the filing cabinet, making a loud ding, and begins to almost howl with anticipation. It’s coming, he can feel it.

“Lou- I-” He stammers, Louis’ working him one more time before sinking right down on it and letting Harry shoot down the back of his throat. Harry sees stars as he comes and his legs feel like they would give way were it not for Louis holding onto them with a vice-like grip.

His breathing is still erratic and his skin flushed as Louis retreats and pops off the top with a satisfying slurp before pushing himself up to standing.

“God, can’t believe I just sucked you off at work!” Louis mutters, laughing to himself softly as he falls back into his chair and turns towards the computer screen, which had gone into screensaver mode in the time they’d been occupied.

Harry is too shocked to speak for a while, all he can do is put himself back inside his boxers and fiddle with his button with trembling, clammy fingers.

“Five more minutes, babe, think you can wait?”

Smiling bashfully and lowering his head, Harry mumbles a reluctant ‘yes’ and sits back down, watching Louis’ profile, drenched in blue light from the computer screen.

Louis’ job at the pub only lasts three more weeks.

 

 

**May 2014 | Chelsea**

Now they’re twenty-five and twenty-seven years of age respectively, life has become less about semi-public hook-ups and getting so drunk you can’t see. They’ve got their jobs and they have their home, a car and a normal life together. They share the car and the bills and spend long, boring weekends and extended periods of time just doing absolutely nothing. They even have a cat.

Six weeks ago, Harry’s boss had told him that they (the company) had tickets to the Chelsea Flower Show in London. Harry and his boss Alan, his boss’ wife Marina and their two daughters were all invited, and Harry had spent a pretty penny on getting a bonus ticket for Louis to be his ‘plus one’.

Harry was  _ beyond _ excited; he didn’t think he’d been in this much anticipation of  _ anything _ ever before in his life. He didn’t believe at first that it was true; figured that someone was having a right old laugh at his expense. Even when the tickets arrived from UPS, he felt like he was being Punk’d.

He only let himself believe it when he’d spent an entire afternoon on Asos.com with the bosses daughter looking for something new for her to wear. He bound out the door at five, waiting for Louis to appear. He wasn’t in the car park and he wasn’t parked up along the street. He fired off a few texts, ' _ hi babe, where are you? I’m outside', 'have you left work yet love,' 'I’ve got really great news ahhh' and ’where are you babe?’ _ . Finally, after fifteen minutes of waiting Louis pulled up, a vast chunk of Harry's enthusiasm dampened down now.

“Where’ve you been?” He asks, swallowing thickly as he sees Louis roll his eyes.

“Just had to stay late to finish what I was in the middle of, okay?”

“All right,” Harry says, holding up his hands. “Sorry, I was just asking.”

“Hmm,” Louis says, sitting with his hands gripping the wheel and his gaze fixed ahead. “Get your seatbelt on so we can get home, yeah?”

Harry silently reaches for his seatbelt and Louis pulls off before he’s even got it clipped in place. Harry closes his eyes briefly, takes a deep breath and then opens his eyes, determined to carry on. “Did you get my texts?”

“No,” Louis says coolly, his eyes flickering off the road to Harry for half a nanosecond. “I was driving.”

“Oh,” Harry says abruptly. “Oh well, doesn’t matter, I’ll just tell you now. Guess what?”

Louis sighs. “What?” His enthusiasm doesn’t match Harry’s.

“We’ve got tickets to the Chelsea Flower show next month!”

“Oh right,” Louis nods, feigning a weak smile. “Cool!”

“Yeah, oh my God, I can’t wait. It’s gonna be such a good day. Alan told us all last week but I thought it was a joke, honestly, but the tickets came today and it’s real! I got a plus one ticket too, it wasn’t even that expensive, cheaper than I was expecting! We can go up the night before and maybe have dinner somewhere ni-”

“Eh? What, why am I coming too?”

Harry’s face falls. “C’mon Lou, don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not being stupid?” Louis says, turning to look at him briefly, but their eyes don’t meet. “Why did you buy me a ticket?”

“Why not? I thought-”

“How much was it?” Louis interrupts. Harry can feel the back of his neck getting hot. He reaches up and rubs at it, moving his straggly hairs out of the way.

“Does it matter?” Harry asks. “I bought it for you, it doesn’t matter how much it cost.”

“What was it, forty, fifty quid?”

It was sixty three but Harry isn’t going to tell Louis that. “Yeah, fifty.”

“For fuck sake, Harry!” Louis explodes, taking one hand off the wheel to hold it up in the air. “Why? Flowers are your thing, what makes you think I’d wanna come?”

“I… I just thought we could spend the day together.”

Louis sighs and doesn’t answer. Harry gives up looking at him after a while, turning his eyes back to the front. He's aware of Louis in his peripheral vision. When they pull up outside their house, Louis cuts the engine without a word and slams the door as he gets out. Harry follows behind, the front door left open for him.

Harry is devastated by Louis’ disinterest. Their argument that night was one of the worst ones to date. They’d both cried and spent the night apart; one on the sofa and one in their bed. Harry, in their bed, didn’t get a wink of sleep. By the look on Louis’ face when he stumbled downstairs the following morning, he hadn’t slept much either.

“I’m sorry, for yesterday. That was… harsh. I was outta line. Thanks for getting me a ticket too.” He says eventually, as they’re in the car sitting side by side but oceans apart.

“S’alright,” Harry shrugs, refusing to make eye contact out of principle. Then, Louis’ hand reaches across and comes to a rest on his knee and he looks round. Louis peers at him quickly before looking back to the road.

“Will there be a lot of walking and flowers?”

“I should imagine so, yes.” Harry says with a reluctant smile.

“Great!” Louis rolls his eyes sarcastically, but he keeps his hand on Harry’s knee and things are okay again for the next few weeks.

 

*

 

Harry is a  _ little _ taken aback by how expensive the weekend turns out to be, with trains, tubes, hotels, food and tickets, but he doesn’t mention it to Louis.

The weekend turns out to be the first truly gloriously sunny one of the year. It’s still cool, however, at half past seven when they’re making their way towards the event. Prompt arrival at 8am was advised in all the blog posts and articles Harry had read beforehand, and he’d scampered along ahead of Louis with excitement.

They joined up with Harry’s work colleagues and Harry honestly found it hard not to get swept along. Coming to this place was like a dream come true. The displays were beautiful, not just flowers and plants but floral sculptures built into fantastic scenes too. There’s stuff for sale everywhere, another expense Harry hadn’t really catered for, and on more than one occasion as he is flitting from one stand to the next with his phone camera constantly poised, he catches sight of Louis lingering in the back, looking around with mild disinterest or sometimes talking with Marina.

At the end of the day, Harry truly overwhelmed and both of them tired and sun drenched, they stand on the platform waiting for their train home. Harry is smoking a cigarette and Louis is scowling down the platform. Harry goes to say something to Louis, and Louis introduces himself. As if Harry didn’t even know who he was.

“That’s not even funny, what’re you being a dick for?”

“I’m being a dick?” Louis splutters, quirking a surprised eyebrow. “Take a look at yourself mate.”

Harry stamped out his cigarette and turned away, not willing to get into things in public. When the train pulls up to the platform nine minutes later (Harry had been counting) Louis took a seat on the opposite side of the aisle of the empty carriage. Harry's job and how it had blossomed (an A* horticultural pun) had been one of his proudest achievements, but right now it felt like it could tear them apart and not even a witty pun could make Harry feel better. Louis won’t even look at him. Harry can see Louis’ reflection, pale and distorted, in the grimy window. He doesn’t look happy or sad or angry or anything; just… finished.

And that hurts the most.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please let me know if you enjoyed it! Comments are massively appreciated! x


	2. This Structure Fell About Our Feet

_ ’I built this balustrade to keep you home, to keep you safe from the outside world. But the angles and the corners, even though my work is unparalleled, they never seemed to meet, this structure fell about our feet.’ _

Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect

 

 

**April 2016**

 

_ “I don’t have a problem with the weed, I just have a problem with the miserable, moody arsehole it turns you into.” _

_ “It’s not the weed that does that, it’s you.” _

_ “Oh fucking nice one, cheers! If you don’t like it you can fuck off, y’know?” _

Harry sits alone on the living room floor. It’s grown dark and silent around him; the screaming from an hour ago is now echoic, deafening loneliness. He’s twenty seven and he’s alone for the first time since he was nineteen. He feels numb. He touches a hand to his arm and his skin is cold.

Not even Elvis the cat is here. Elvis is white all over apart from some smudges of minky brown around his paws that make him look constantly muddy. Between his ears and on the top of his head his fur is jet black, like Mr Presley himself. The name choice had been obvious and he was the only one of the litter to have such a distinctive pattern to his fur, so they chose him in a heartbeat. That had been six years ago, when they’d moved from their flat into this house.

Bitter, spiteful words resonate in Harry’s mind as he sits still in deathly silence.

_ “It’s always the same story with you, Harry, no matter where I’m working or what I’m doing, it’s not enough for you is it? I’m fucking sick of this! Of you!” _

_ “Is it a crime to miss you? Is that so bad, is it?” _

_ “You don’t miss me you just can’t stand not getting your own way! You can’t stand that I’ve got responsibilities outside of keeping you happy! God, you’re like a kid!” _

There was no consistency to their fighting, and it had always been that way. When this had started, hours ago, back when the sun was still sitting in the sky and the birds were still flitting past the window, Harry had thought it’d be the same as it always is; they’d fight, they’d mumble pathetic apologies later on, and then things would go back to normal for an undetermined amount of time.

_ "You didn’t even want to change the tiles in the bathroom, why the fuck are you saying this now?” _

Harry’s not even sure how or why they’d got onto arguing about the bathroom _ .  _ He could quite happily rip the entire room to shreds now, though, that’s how much adrenaline and upset is running through his veins.

_ “My point is you don’t even act like you want things to change?” _

_ “So you want me to tile the bathroom?” _

_ “No!” Harry screams, beyond frustrated that he just can’t get his point across. _

_ “Nothing I do is enough for you is it, why would I even bother?” _

_ “Stop! Saying! That!” He yells, articulating every word, ragging his hands through his hair. “For fuck sake, you just. Urgh you drive me mad!” _

_ “Take a look at yourself, Harry! You just push and push and push. You don’t care who you’re hurting as long as you’re okay.” _

_ “You think I’m okay?” Harry asks incredulously. “Is this ‘okay’?” _

_ “All you care about is your job!” _

Harry’s job is everything to him; he’d gone from a Saturday job during the last year of school, to an erratic schedule of shifts while in college studying Horticulture and Floristry, and somewhere along the line he’d agreed to accompany a friend and that friend’s friend to Southend to a gig, and his life had changed forever.

In 2009 he was taken on full time, which meant progression, of course. He worked his way up slowly from basic customer service and small wreath arranging to attending wedding fayres and events, liaising with wedding venues and working with clients to entirely plan the floral aspects of their big days, all without supervision.

_ “Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not enough anymore!” _

_ “You don’t mean that.” Louis looks at him with acidic venom in his eyes. _

_ Harry hadn’t even meant it. Things had snowballed and he didn’t know how to deal with. _

_ “Well cheers for that! It’s nice to know what eight years means to you, Harry, it really is! There was me thinking that all this time you loved me! Well what a fucking twat I was to think that!” _

Louis had taken Harry’s silence as confirmation that he did, in fact, mean that. In truth, Harry just hadn’t been able to get his words out. He doesn’t realise it at first but his hands are stretched over his thighs wide and his fingers are pressing into his skin so hard he could probably burst right through the skin. His vision swims with tears that burn and soil his cheeks.

_ “Oh I’m sure it won’t take you long to get over it!” _

_ “Fuck you, what’s that supposed to mean?” _

_ “I’m sure you’ll find someone, Louis, just take your fucking pick!” _

_ “Yeah, an’ they’ll be a damn sight better than you, you selfish prick. I don’t need your shit and I  _ definitely  _ don’t need you! Eight fucking years I wasted with you; eight years are just gone.” _

_ “Leave then, if being with me is so terrible! Go on, fuck off and take the last eight years with you. You’re all talk! Put those words into action if you’re  _ soooo  _ unhappy! I know it now; you don’t wanna be here and I don’t want you here! You think it’s just you who’s wasted the last eight years with the wrong person, well it’s not. Take it all, just get out!” _

_ “Don’t worry, I’m going. You’re pathetic, Harry, you know that? I’m fucking gone!” _

_ “Good! Get out! Go, fuck off!” _

Louis hasn’t taken one personal possession with him apart from his phone. He doesn’t even have his charger, what is he going to do when the battery dies? Harry’s not sure why he’s focussing on such a menial thing at a time like this; maybe it’s his coping mechanism?

Harry stares at the wall with fresh tears rolling down his cheeks, channelling under his chin and down his neck, getting lost somewhere in the neckline of his t-shirt. He takes a deep, faltering breath and chokes out a sob.

It had actually happened. Even in the midst of their darkest days, this had always felt impossible. But it’s actually happened, tonight. The tightness that Harry feels all over his whole body radiates through his back and into his chest as realisation hits him. It’s never gone this far before; not once in eight years. There’d been screaming and shouting and furious reconciliation, blindingly blissful days and extended periods where they wouldn’t talk to each other, but they’d never,  _ ever  _ lost their way like this.

It’s difficult to breathe and each inward breath is an aborted gasp. Harry claws at his skin through the thin material of his t-shirt, digging his bitten down fingertips into his chest as if trying to rip open his skin to make more room for his lungs. He slams the back of his head into the wall repeatedly, screaming out. His head aches and he tips forward, resting his head on his knee. A tear gravitates off his face into the denim of his jeans, soaking in and creating a dark patch that expands in the fabric. The noise he makes is a mixture between unadulterated grief and manic frustration.

Eventually, the emotion gives way to an eternal numbness.

 

*

 

It had been about eight o'clock when Louis left. Harry knows that because the telly had been on mute during their last few moments together and he saw EastEnders finishing as they did. The banging on the front door comes at half past ten and Harry’s heart lurches at the sudden noise.

He’d been lying on his side in the foetal position on the floor, numb. He leaps into the air, disorientated and confused for a moment. He thinks of Louis first. He runs through the room and down the hallway to the door and peers through the peephole.

It's Perrie. Well, a distorted and bulbous-headed version of Perrie. Groaning softly to himself he contemplates ignoring it, but he can’t do that to her. Plus, if she knocks again the neighbours might start looking to find out what all the commotion is about. They’re probably already whispering about Louis’ dramatic exit; he doesn’t need anything else for them to gossip about.

Perrie is married now. Harry would’ve put money on her and Zayn ending up together but then Ryan came into the picture four years ago and they’ve been gone for each other ever since. Louis hadn’t coped well with accepting an ‘outsider’, his protectiveness over Perrie going into fierce overdrive, but they all get along well now.

Pulling the door open slowly, Perrie steps in before she’s invited, but that’s okay apparently. Apparently, anyone can do anything they like to Harry and it’s okay. He looks back at her wordlessly, unable to contain his disappointment, while also feeling foolish for thinking it could be Louis in the first place.

Perrie shakes off her jacket and slings it over the bannister. Harry carries on looking back at her. Her face softens and he can feel the warmth in the soft kindness of her eyes. It’s almost maternal. "Babe, I’m so, so sorry."

Harry can’t keep it in any longer. The grief washes over him again and Perrie scoops him up into her arms before he can buckle to the ground. It’s sort of nice to breathe Perrie in and let her familiarity overtake his senses. It’s nice to have something familiar after hours of being alone. And fuck, it's only been two and a half hours. How is Harry going to survive the rest of his life?

Perrie cradles him close; she soothes circles between his weary shoulder blades with one hand and pats his lower back with the other. Her hair is damp with his tears as they pull apart, but she doesn’t react. "I’m so sorry babes."

Harry sniffs pathetically and paws at his nose with the back of his hand. "Not your fault."

"Lou’s at ours." Perrie tells him, watching him closely.

Harry feels a fresh batch of hot tears pool in his eyes, and they spill over as he nods acceptingly. "Okay."

He’s not sure what else to do now. Thank god there is a wall behind him because he falls back against it and the tired knobbles of his spine smart with the contact. He wants to know... he wants to know something but he's too afraid of the answer.

"Shall we sit down? You look like you're about to balk."

Harry deems this quite an accurate observation. Perrie takes his hand and leads him carefully through to the living room. She sees that he is seated before she sits down opposite him, perched right on the edge of the coffee table.

"I don't really know what to say Haz."

Harry laughs humorously. "Me either, Pez."

They sit for a bit in silence; Harry with his head in his hands and Perrie with her hands clasped in her lap and her head tilted to the side with an obvious amount of concern.

Eventually, he plucks up the courage to ask. It’s killing him. "Did he ask you to come here?"

Perrie looks at him closely, her eyes examining him. "Not exactly."

Harry’s chest feels tight again. Of course. Louis just walked out on him two hours ago, why would he suddenly be interested in how Harry is? "Okay." He mouths silently, looking down at the floor; the oak effect coffee table on the burnt orange shag rug on the worn-in beige carpet.

"He turned up with nothing. Not even a jacket. I said I’d come and get his clothes for work tomorrow."

Harry hadn’t even thought about work; hadn’t thought that there might be a reason for Perrie’s visit other than checking up on him. "Oh," he manages. "Work? Yeah. I didn’t... didn’t even think about that."

"To be fair, he hasn’t said much about anything. Just turned up... silent. The look on his face gave it away though."

Harry’s not sure if that was supposed to make him feel better or worse or neither, but he feels worse somehow. He wants to be angry with Louis but he doesn’t feel angry in that moment, just sad. Well, sadder.

"I’ll uh, I’ll go and get you something to take for him."

Perrie nods. "You want a hand, babe?"

Harry shakes his head slowly. "Nah, I should be okay."

"Okay, pet."

Harry climbs the stairs with zero trepidation; he doesn’t want to do this. He knows waiting behind this door is the hub of his whole life with Louis. And he has to take part of it and give it away, acknowledging that Louis is now living his life somewhere else.

He falls onto the unmade bed before he's even properly through the door.

"Ah you're back," Perrie smiles softly when he appears in the doorway some time later. “Was beginning to think you'd got lost!"

Harry had sat on the edge of their bed and watched himself cry in the full length mirror attached to the wardrobe door; the epitome of pathetic. "Sorry." He says flatly. He holds out Louis' charcoal grey trousers, some socks, Calvin's and a soft blue shirt. "This should do."

Perrie’s hands are cold as their fingers brush as they exchange the items. "He'll be back, Harry."

Harry can't help but smile at her optimism. "I doubt it. It seemed pretty final to me."

Perrie looks slightly caught between two viewpoints, and Harry gets it. He does. "I’ll let him know you're okay." Harry eyes her. "Well... y'know."

"I wouldn’t bother." Harry says to the floor. “He doesn’t care.”

"I love you both," Perrie says, putting the clothes down on the arm of the sofa, the balled up socks rolling straight off the pile onto the floor. "You know that, don’t you? I hate this, I really do. My heart is breaking for you Harry, it is."

Harry doesn’t know what to say so he just lets Perrie envelope him in another hug. He feels like he'll be getting a lot of these in the next few weeks. Sympathy for the boy who couldn’t keep his man.

He stands at the door as Perrie gets into her car. He stands at the door and waves forlornly as she passes by, wiggling her fingers to him with an air of regret. He stands there long after she's gone. After ten minutes or so, he mentally calculates that Perrie would be home now. Back to his Louis.

He wonders how long Louis might stay with Perrie and Ryan. Knowing Louis, not long. He would hate to impose on the newlyweds. Well, they've been married eighteen months but Perrie likes to drag out the newlywed thing as much as she can.

Elvis slinking around his ankles distracts Harry from his thoughts very momentarily. He wishes he was as oblivious as the stupid old moggy and his indifference to the current situation. He doesn’t care if Louis is here or not, so long as he gets fed and let in at night.

Closing the door softly, he pauses before putting the security chain across. If he locks himself in tonight, Louis won’t be able to come home. He has to remind himself that Louis  _ isn’t  _ coming home, that much is abundantly clear. If he was, he wouldn’t have let Perrie come and fetch his clothes for tomorrow.

Bolting the chain across with a heavy heart, he wanders back down to the living room, dragging a fleecy blanket off the back of the sofa and sinking down cross-legged. Elvis follows him in a few moments later, stalking over to the patio doors and rubbing his face against the cool glass before sauntering slowly over to Harry and jumping up onto the empty space next to him.

He reaches out for the creature and his fingers find his silky warm fur. Elvis burrows his face into Harry’s thigh and Harry prompts the old boy into his lap. Elvis settles in the dip of Harry’s crossed legs. Harry stares at the grey smudge on his back until he can’t see for tears.

The tears eventually run dry and his face feels tight with the dried tracks. The only sounds are Elvis’ heavy breathing and the pipes creaking and whistling as they cool down. His hands and arms and the tip of his nose are freezing cold; his legs are warm under the weight of Elvis but that’s it. The contrast is somehow worse.

Harry doesn’t move for hours. His back is so numb and he is so stiff he has to wiggle his toes just to check he hasn’t turned to stone. He sees half past five in the morning before finally drifting off, only for his phone alarm to wake him up an hour and a half later.

 

*

 

Harry quakes as the phone rings out, and his boss Alan picks up on the seventh ring. Harry knows because he was counting them. He is still undecided whether to lie and feign illness or tell the truth right up until the words come out of his mouth. He pretends to have a sickness bug and hangs up with well-wishes from his genial sixty-eight year old boss.

Harry supposes that is the beauty of working in such a little place with just him and a few others, rather than some big corporation where he is just another payroll number.

He hears the car doors slam of people going off to work and engines roar to life, the giggles of seven year old Ava and five year old Chloe next door heading off to school with their mum. Life is carrying on around him. He pictures Louis dragging himself out of Perrie and Ryan’s spare bed and into his clothes and going to work like nothing had happened, and for a moment he truly hates him.

He supposes that he has to carry on too, though. He shakes out the last of the cat food into Elvis’ bowl and shoves the box into the recycling. They missed dinner the night before because they broke up before Harry could start thinking about making it, so there’s no washing up to be done. He pauses in the kitchen for a while, just running his finger along the edge of the draining rack and staring at the potted fern on the windowsill.

He’ll be back.

He’s only got one change of clothes; he will have to come back.

He might send Perrie again, this time with a suitcase and some cardboard boxes.

You’re going to have to tell your mum. You’re going to have to tell everyone.

His phone rings, pulling him from his quickly snowballing thought process and he actually makes a noise in surprise.

“Liam?” Harry answers, bracing himself.

“I’m on my lunch break now.” Liam says, and it’s so unexpected Harry almost forgets himself and laughs.

“Okay?” Harry replies. “That’s… good?”

“I mean, I didn’t know what to say. Last night, when Soph told me. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see what was ‘appening.” Liam sounds desperately sad. It hurts almost more than the pain in his heart.

Liam and Sophia never bothered to get married. Harry even offered them a discount on their wedding flowers but they weren’t interested. Alas, Sophia had had a platinum-set diamond on her finger since 2012 but neither of them were in a hurry to rush down the aisle. They didn’t really seem in a hurry to do  _ anything  _ apart from just be together. It was quite sweet really, if a little boring.

Throughout his twenties, Harry became a lot more social than he was in his teens. Mainly because he had Louis and Louis was always at the heart of things. They’d all be together at least once or twice a week; festivals and gigs, pub crawls, trips to the Chinese all you can eat and the cinema. They would just go and go and go; nothing was too hard or too tiring or too much. But they're all grownups now, pushing thirty; they’re lucky if they get to see each other once or twice a  _ month  _ , let alone a week.

Harry doesn’t want to know who told Liam about what’s happened because then his brain would start re-enacting the conversation. Besides, there are only two options: Louis himself, or Perrie. Either Perrie told Sophia who told Liam, or Louis told Liam and Sophia directly.

"It's okay Li,” Harry says, realising there has been crickets between them for the last few moments. “It’s not your fault is it? I’m glad you didn’t call yesterday. I wouldn’t have been much cop; needed some time to get me 'ead 'round it."

Harry closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the mannerisms he’s picked up from Louis over the years. He doesn’t want to talk. He hasn’t ‘got his head around it’ yet. It’s been less than twenty four hours.

“Are you okay?” Liam asks down the phone. Harry stares at the back wall incredulously. He hates that question.

“No, not one bit.” He says truthfully.

“So what’s the plan?”

Harry refocuses. “Plan?”

“Yeah, with Tomm- Louis, sorry.”

“There is no plan, Liam.” Harry replies with a pause and a heavy sigh.

“What do you mean there is no plan? Haven’t you guys talked yet?”

Harry shakes his head glumly, pursing his lips and remembering he has to  _ speak.  _ “Not yet.”

“What?” Liam gasps disbelievingly. “But how are you supposed to…”

“Supposed to what?”

“Y’know,” Liam says vaguely. “Get back together?”

“We’re not.” Harry says after a brief pause. Liam inhales sharply like Harry’s just started speaking Mandarin. “Don’t sound like that, Liam.”

“But you… you’re just gonna let things end like this? After all this time?”

Harry had no idea Liam was such a supporter of he and Louis’ love. Well, he and Louis’ past love. “Yeah, apparently so. He made that quite clear when he walked out.” Harry scratches at a non-existent itch on his arm. Liam is still muttering in disbelief. “Stop it Liam, please.”

“I just don’t get it; I thought you and Lou were like, forever.”

_ So did I,  _ Harry thinks sadly. His stomach twists and he feels sicker than ever, thanks Liam. “Same.”

Liam makes a garbled, frustrated noise and there is some rustling on his end of the call. “You’re just gonna let him go?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, wishing it was that easy.

“But we’re all mates. If you two can’t stand the sight of each other how’re we gonna all stay friends?”

“I dunno,” Harry says honestly. For some inane reason, he thinks of Ross and Rachel, and Robin and Ted. Things ended okay for them. They managed it; it doesn’t matter that those couples are fictional. It doesn’t matter that those couples ended up back together in the end because this is real life. “He’ll get you lot and I’ll get Zayn. Maybe Niall too.”

Niall had met and fell in love with a redheaded Irish girl with freckles named Ciara on St Patrick’s Day 2011. Ciara was pregnant with their first, a little girl to be called Madeleine with golden curls and blue eyes, before their first anniversary, and they all convened in Ballyvolane House, Cork for their wedding in October 2012 with nine week old Madeleine in an ivory dress and flower headband. In March 2014, little blonde haired Amelia was born, followed by redheaded Erin-May in February 2015.

Zayn is the only one that never settled down. There were boys and there were girls, there were holidays and there was meeting of parents, but nothing ever stuck. Louis used to joke (hopefully) that if Zayn was still single at 30, he’d chuck Harry and marry Zayn. At the time, Zayn had been holding out for Perrie and Harry had been hoping that Louis was just joking.

Liam sighs. He seems to be reeling in shock. Harry can sympathise entirely. “This can’t be what you want. It can’t be. I remember the grief you put me through when you two met; you wouldn’t just… would you?”

“It’s just something I’ll have to get used to, y’know? Like remembering to put the right year for the first few weeks of January, yeah?”

“Harry-” Liam interjects, but Harry dismisses him weakly.

“Liam, it’s fine. It’s not your problem to worry about.”

“Harry, it’s eight years-”

“I know,” Harry says snippily, softening immediately. Getting arsey with Liam is like kicking over a three legged puppy. “I’m sorry, I just mean… God, I don’t even know what I mean. I just feel… empty.”

Harry punctuates his point with a dejected sigh. His eyes feel dry as sand and they sting as tears begin to prick behind his eyes again. He doesn’t want to cry. He does want to cry.

“What’s going on with you? What’s new?” He asks, trying to move Liam on a bit.

“Fine, but this isn’t about me.”

“Li, please!” Harry says desperately. “I  _ really  _ don’t want to talk about it anymore, please?”

Liam goes to say something else, but at the same time, a tear slips from Harry’s eye onto his cheek and then he’s gone. All control that he thought he had has abandoned him, just like his love, and lifting his hand to his face to try and hide from it all is all he can do to try and stop the feeling.

“Hey hey hey,” Liam clucks down the line, but Harry can’t focus. “I’m sorry, Haz, I didn’t mean to push it.”

A tight knot in Harry’s throat is stopping him from doing anything but cry, and when he tries to swallow it hurts. He scrubs furiously at his eyes with a balled up fist, making an incoherent noise. “Li, I- I can’t, I…”

“Come on mate, it’s all right. Let it all out.” Liam tells him, his soothing voice down the line doing nothing to subdue Harry. Harry just wants his mum. Honestly, at twenty seven years of age he just wants his mum. He sinks down against the kitchen unit, back rod-straight against the wood and knees tucked up under his chin. He hugs his legs and buries his face away from the world, breath hitching in his throat and his chest heaving with sobs until it finally abates to something like dazed discomfort. Liam stays with him on the line the entire time. Eventually, like all people, Liam leaves him. Harry sits there on the kitchen floor for a long time afterwards, until it hurts.

He hears his phone ping; he doesn’t look at it until the evening.

**Liam:** _ I’m so sorry. Love u lots x _

 

*

 

Harry wakes on the sofa on Saturday morning, his second full day without Louis. He feels like a stranger in this new life. In the world where he is from, the world where he is still with Louis, the weekend had meant lying in bed until the afternoon and then doing next to nothing, unless they needed to shop or they were going somewhere.

But here, all he has for company is complete silence.

Come to think of it, where is Elvis?

Sleeping on the sofa has wrecked his back but he doesn’t dare go into their room. Fuck Louis for doing this to him.

It seems that Harry’s overriding emotion first thing in the morning is anger. He wonders if it will always be this way, or, more accurately, how long it will be that way? Will he recognise the pivotal point in the day where anger gives way to the next emotion? Self-pity? Embarrassment? Confusion? All three at once?

Harry has made a decision that means he’s going to have to go upstairs and change his clothes - and shower too. He’s done neither of those things since Thursday and it’s not pleasant. If Louis does come home, he’s not going to want to be around Harry like he is now.

It’s a bigger deal than he thinks it’s going to be, and he only flies in quick enough to grab clean socks, pants, jeans and a t-shirt. The bed is still unmade and everything else is untouched. He showers, dries and redresses all in the bathroom. He doesn’t want to go back into their room again. Ever.

 

*

 

His hair is nothing like the length he’d had it in his late teens and early twenties, when he could wrap it around and around into a bun or have it trailing wildly down his back, and before today Harry hadn’t considered a haircut, but today he wants to rip every single hair from its follicle.

Head down, the woman shaves into his neck with the clippers, hair falling around him. When it comes time to trim the top, he’s surprised at how long the strands are when she pulls them upwards between two fingers and snips half an inch or so off, running a bit of product through on the tips of his fingers. It’s still long on top, the ends still curl around.

His stomach growls as he’s sat in the chair, and he clutches his belly embarrassedly as he brushes off the barber’s amused comments. He hasn’t eaten since Thursday tea time.

When he goes to pay, he opens his wallet for his debit card and immediately sees the picture of he and Louis. His mind goes blank as he holds his card out, desperately swallowing the bile that is making the back of his throat burn and his mouth fill with saliva.

He stops by Justin’s on the way home.

 

*

 

Nothing has changed when he gets back; not that he was expecting a miracle to have occurred in the last few hours. He kicks off his scuffed boots and takes the small, clear pouch from his pocket. He hadn't put away his tub, because there was no one there to remind him to do it. He takes it and sits down on the floor against the sofa, legs crossed.

He cracks open the million year old clear plastic lunchbox and thumbs open the Rizla, selecting one waif-like rolling paper and setting it aside carefully. His nostrils flare as a wave of anger takes over him as he twists the grinder back and forth, once, twice each way and once for luck. A few flakes are left behind on the coffee table as he fills the paper, packs the weed in and seals it. He rolls up a roach for one end and pinches the other.

He smokes with his right hand and rests his stupid, weary head in his left hand. It’s too bloody quiet, all he can hear is the paper crackling and hissing as it burns down. He’s never hated himself more than in that moment; he goes to run his hands through his hair and is greeted with nothing. Tears and pungent air sting his eyes. What he wouldn’t give to have Louis walk back through the door right now. Even Elvis doesn't want to know him. He’s still got to tell his mum he’s failed, too. He can’t do it now, though. She’ll be at work. Plus, he’s too high to think straight, obviously.

“Too high to think gay,” He says to himself dopily, but it doesn’t feel funny in this situation. He laughs humourlessly at himself, shaking his head in despair. It’s something Louis had always used to say; whenever anyone would use ‘straight’ in a sentence, he’d change it to gay. It had annoyed Harry no end but now he’d kill to hear his boy crack a joke.

Some time later, he crawls through the dark, cold house to the kitchen, pulls himself up with his palms planted flatly on the countertop and staggers to the fridge. His mouth and throat are so dry the cheese sandwich he has made himself sticks to the roof of his mouth and hurts as he swallows it down. He falls asleep on the ice cold kitchen floor, fingernail shaped welts of pure irritation and despair marking his palms.

 

*

 

Things don’t get better.

_ Knock-knock-knock. _

_ Knock-knock-knock-knock! _

The incessant noise wakes Harry with a jerk. The sky that was a milky indigo the last time he’d seen it is now sapphire and the orange glow from the street light just outside the window is throwing down across the room. He has to blink a few times to adjust to the change; he scrambles to sitting in a daze; jumping out of his skin as he hears more knocking.

“Urghh,” He spits out as he pulls himself to his feet, his spine creaking as he straightens up. His visitor is obviously keen to speak to him for they knock again as he is stumbling towards the door.

Without thinking to check first, he pulls the door open to find Perrie on his door step. she ‘s got a studded leather jacket over a hoodie and her arms are pulled tightly over her front and she’s cradling her sides tightly.

“Harry!” She exclaims, releasing and clamping a hand to her mouth. “Harry you look-”

She doesn't answer. She lets herself in and guides him to the living room, turning on the light which burns Harry’s eyes. He closes them against it and brings a knee up to rest his weary head on.

It’s not just a social visit, of course. Perrie has come to get more of Louis’ things. She is apologetic about it and Harry knows the practically he has no business being angry with her, but he can’t help it.

“There’s an Ikea bag under the stairs, y’know the blue ones with the yellow handles.”  _ We got when we bought the bedroom lamps and the cushions.  _ The memory makes Harry feel sick. “You can use that. It should be in there somewhere, I haven’t used it for anyth-”

“Harry?”

He stops abruptly, not looking back at Perrie. He can see her reflection in the patio doors. "What?" He asks quietly.

“Are you okay?”

Harry glowers incredulously, still facing away. “In general, or…?”

“In general,” Perrie says, walking around the sofa to face him. “Okay. Sorry, maybe that was a stupid question.”

“Yeah, _ maybe.”  _ Harry mutters sarcastically. He clamps his eyes closed and sweeps his palm across his face, covering his mouth and biting softly for a bit of relief on his little finger. He’s going to cry again, he can feel the tears beading behind his eyelids; they scorch his skin as they seep out from between his lashes, powerless to stop them.

"I'm worried, Harry. You're scaring me."

"Thanks, and sorry." Harry answers from behind his hands. He flinches as Perrie's hands ghost over his own and she pulls his hands away from his face. She settles them in his lap and swipes the tears away with the crook of her thumb.

“He didn’t go to work, Friday. He was in bed all day. He's not okay, either. If you think this has been easy on him you're wrong.”

"Oh, I'll bear that in mind, thanks." Harry replies, scowling and closing his eyes again.

"Harry, that's not what I mean. I mean you're both hurting. I'm scared for you both, I need to know you're okay."

"Well, you'll be waiting a while, Pez." He says, bowing his head and opening his eyes. "I'm not gonna top meself, though, if that's what you're worried about."

"You shouldn't be here by yourself."

"Tell that to Louis."

"Can't you go to your mums?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, she doesn't... she doesn't know."

"Are you gonna-"

"Yes, obviously, just not yet!" Harry interrupts, reaching out for Perrie's hand. "Pez, I- I can't even admit it to myself yet. I can't say the words so how the hell am I supposed to tell my mum? He's just popped out, he's not... he's not gone! I can't do it, please don't m-make me. I just... fucking hell."

It takes another twenty minutes to convince Perrie he's safe to be left alone. He doesn't watch as she takes Louis’ things; rather lays face down on the sofa with his head ensconced in his arms, trying to block everything out. Elvis, always turning up eventually, climbs onto him and takes up residence in the small of his back.

 

*

 

An hour later, he’s in the middle of a mess. It had started with taking down all the photos. It had ended with tearing all the cushions and blankets off the sofa for no other reason than they were personally offending him. Why the hell did they have so many photographs on the walls and on the surfaces anyway, whose bright idea was that? Oh yeah - his.

Over eight years, they’ve amassed quite the collection of stuff together, it seems; everything tainted now.

A photo from Southend, one that neither of them was aware was being taken; grainy and rubbish quality. It was their first photo even though they’re not actually together in the picture and neither of them are looking at the camera. Perrie had found it on an old memory card three years in and Harry had paid the twenty seven pence to print it at Boots and framed it next to the TV.

Their tickets to Fergie’s final game at Old Trafford in 2013 that had been signed by the man himself after, framed along with the receipt from the Metrolink and a silver plated United badge.

Their ‘World’s Best Uncle’ mugs. When his sister Gemma and Louis’ eldest sister Lottie had fallen pregnant within two months of each other, the two girls - who were more like real sisters than in-laws - broke the news to their brothers with the mugs. Once they caught on what the mugs meant, Harry had made a noise not unlike a climaxing seal and Louis had gone immediately and predictably into protective mode over both girls.

Harry couldn’t break up the set so away they both went. The walls and the mantelpiece and the side board look so empty now. As empty as Harry feels. He curls in on himself on the living room floor, back pressed against the cool glass of the patio doors. The tears drip sideways out of his eyes, rolling across the bridge of his nose and down his cheeks bones, across his temple and into his hairline.

So Louis hadn’t gone to work on that Friday. So he  _ is  _ human, he  _ does  _ have a heart. Well, big whoop, what is Harry supposed to do with that information? If Louis thinks he’s the only one that was blindsided by emotions on Thursday night, he’s wrong.

Elvis appears and stalks over to him, settling into position next to him and angling his head, begging for a scratch. They sleep there until about five am, when Harry wakes to a tight, cracked face, cold limbs and an aching back. He can just see Elvis snuggled in between two discarded sofa cushions strewn on the floor.

 

*

 

Real Life starts again on Monday; Harry won’t allow it not to. Sunday had been awful. He’d woken up with a crick in his neck and had fallen asleep in the bath. He woke up to filthy, stone cold water and wrinkled skin.

Getting ready and out of the house in time to start work at 8.30 isn’t even the hardest thing he’s had to do since it happened. Stepping out of the house, nothing he does feels familiar. He doesn’t do any of the things that he normally does. He doesn’t hitch a lift with Louis (the car sits ignored in the driveway where it has since Thursday – God knows how Louis is getting about). He doesn’t dip into Costa for a vanilla latte or the corner shop for a chocolate bar. He just trudges through the streets with the pigeon poo and the cigarette butts, feeling about as worthless as the gum stuck to the pavement.

Then something hits him. Life really is cruel sometimes. He hadn’t, until this moment, stopped to consider the irony of his work until the very second he steps over the threshold and remembers he has to spend all day helping people plan their weddings. It’s not like he and Louis are – were – planning on getting married, but after eight years it’s not like it hadn’t crossed Harry’s mind once or twice. How is he expected to spend all day taking orders for wedding flowers without ripping some poor stupid, happy persons face off?

“Hello lad,” Alan greets him as the chime above the door alerts the place to Harry’s arrival. “Feeling better? Don’t get too close if you’re still full of cold!”

Alan pretends to ward him off, making an X with his fingers and chuckling, but Harry’s weak effort at a smile has Alan instantly concerned. “Are you all right kid?”

Harry tries his best to control the lump that has formed in his throat. He tries to blink away the tears that are pricking in his vision. He tries to stop himself making an inhuman noise but he can’t.

“Uh, God, no, um… me and Lou…” He can’t say the words. He hasn’t said the words yet, not out loud; makes him feel like it might not actually be true if he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Oh kid, I am sorry,” Alan surges across the room as quickly as his legs will take him, pulling Harry in to a slightly awkward hug. Harry isn’t  _ especially  _ tall but he’s a giant compared to Alan. “Really sorry to hear that.”

Alan pats his back and then pulls away gruffly. Alan has never expressed much of an interest in Harry’s private life or asked too many questions about him and Louis. Harry’d never got the impression Alan had a problem with him being gay at all, just that maybe he didn’t quite get it and didn’t want to offend him by saying the wrong thing. It’s not like it was massively relevant to their work anyway. “You can get down on one knee now,” Alan had said to him jovially when the same-sex marriage laws changed in 2013, but that was about the only time it had ever been touched upon. Whenever Louis had come to meet him from work in the past he’d always waited outside so it had only been once or twice that he and Alan had actually crossed paths.

“Thanks,” Harry covers his eyes with his hands, pressing his fingertips into his orbs until his vision is destroyed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to uh, to make a scene.”

“It’s all right, H, take as much time as you need. Here,” Alan plucks a tissue from the box on the countertop. “Go into the back, calm yourself down and have a biscuit. Bring us in a brew when you’re settled, okay?”

Harry nods gratefully. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Harry disappears into the back room as he hears the over door bell chime. It’s not unusual to have brides-to-be chomping at the bit to get inside and get a consultation the second the doors open. He listens to Alan greet them; it’s a bride-to-be and her mother, eager to show some options from Pinterest. Alan won’t get it at all.

Thankfully, the first day back is a relatively slow one. He answers a few phone calls and helps load a floral arrangement into the van to be delivered. He sweeps up scattered compost and he makes more tea. The cellophane wraps are all fully loaded and folded over into neat points by the time he is finished. Staring at the reflective, smooth and colourful material for so long gives him time to think.

Adele plays quietly in the background on the radio and a tear slips out before Harry can stop it. He tries uselessly to dab the corner of his eye with his shoulder, trying to be as inconspicuous as he can. He disappears into the toilet and runs the tap to cover up the sound of his sniffing. He scrutinises his reflection in the mirror as he wipes his eyes. Adele has changed to Rick Astley by the time he comes out and the poignant, gut-wrenching moment is abruptly over.

There is a young girl waiting to be served when he emerges from the bathroom, so he has no choice but to press on and focus on her. It’s definitely for the best.

 

*

 

Alan leaves with a delivery at three, so Harry’s on his own up until closing time at five. Marina is upstairs doing accounts - and from the sounds of things having a private karaoke session - and Harry lets her know when he’s leaving. She follows him down and bolts the doors behind him, flipping the sign over from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ with well wishes. Alan won’t have said anything to her and he’d managed to avoid her gaze during the weak spots of his day, so as far as she is concerned he’s just recovering from his illness.

He steps out of the door and peers up at the sky, wondering whether it will rain on him before he gets home. He’s just reaching into his pocket to see if he can afford to get the bus home when–

“Harry?” A small, familiar voice sounds from his right.

Harry is caught completely off guard. Louis stands there, sunken into the alcove between the flower shop and the neighbours, looking so small and so cold. Despite the fact that the mid-April sky is a soft blue and almost cloudless, and most people have ditched their coats for light jackets now, a column of shadow casts Louis in a chilly grey haze and his skin is pale and dull.

The underneaths of his eyes are dusted in purpley and his hair is pushed back off his face under a ratty old grey beanie, every line of worry, stress and age showing on Louis’ forehead as he peers back at him, looking honestly broken for lack of a better word. The conflicting emotions inside Harry are fighting each other just under the surface as he continues to stare.

“Fu... shit, not again, why can't you leave me alone?"

Apparently, his exhausted frustration as won out.

“I felt like I should come and see you. ”

“You've already done that."

"Can we talk?" Louis asks, and Harry feels his lungs deflate. He stares up the street that stretches before them; shop fronts on their left and busy road on their right.  _ Hating  _ himself, he nods.

"Shall we walk somewhere?”

“I was going home. Can’t now.” Harry mutters. Louis looks pained and it’s not even as satisfying as Harry had hoped it would be. Wordlessly, Harry sets off, seeing Louis’ reflection in the shop front follow him.  He pads along in Vans that have seen better days. They’re about as tired as Harry feels.Harry can see his garish red socks sticking out from his trackies.

They end up walking through the town centre towards home anyway. Louis doesn't say anything and neither does Harry. He keeps his pace brisk and Louis’ footsteps are moving quickly next to him to keep up.

As it happens, it doesn’t rain at all on the walk home.

He still doesn't say anything when they emerge from the alleyway at the side of the playing fields and cross over onto their street. They’re still silent when they reach the front door. Harry shoves it open with his shoulder once the key is in and steps in. He hopes he didn’t leave too much of a mess, and that it doesn’t smell too much like sweat and weed, but alas, neither of those things are true.

“I uh, sorry about the mess.” Harry turns around in the living room, breaking the silence and looking around the room despairingly. The cushions and the blanket and the t-shirt he fell asleep in last night are still strewn everywhere, a plate on the side and his weed on the coffee table.

Louis doesn’t even look around. “Don’t be.”

Harry throws open the patio doors so a bit of fresh air can circulate. Elvis comes shooting in from where he was sat, paws damp in the dewy grass; the corner of the garden that doesn’t catch the sun still all gloomy and shimmering with precipitation from the night before.

“’Ey up, Elvis, hello mate!” Louis exclaims softly, scooping the feline up into his arms and wiggling his fingers through the dark fur on Elvis’ head. The animal cranes his neck into Louis’ chest and he leans in close to him, nudging him with his nose. “Missed you boy, y’alright?”

Harry wants to scoff at Louis’ ridiculously over-the-top show of affection for their bloody cat, and then promptly hold a grudge against said cat for being so loveable and miss-able to Louis. “He missed you too.”

Louis looks up, his smile that he’d had for Elvis becoming wistful and fading some.

“Why are you here then?” Harry asks, feeling irrationally irritated now. He holds his breath as Louis’ meets his eye.

“Harry…”

“Have you even thought about where you’re going to go?” Harry asks, Louis looking up at him. “You know, you said it yourself you can’t stay at Perrie’s forever.”

Louis pauses again before solemnly shaking his head. “Not got a solid plan, no.”

Harry feels like screaming.  _ Come home  _ , he almost says, but doesn’t. “That’s no good.”

Louis shakes his head grimly, Elvis wriggling in his arms. Louis holds him out and he leaps onto the sofa, curling up in the corner and closing his eyes. Louis pats himself down and then rubs his palms together. “I know.”

“You can’t stay here.” Harry says defiantly, and Louis’ eyes quiver.

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Good.” Harry says petulantly. He knows he’s being a knob.

“Actually, I think I made a mistake.” Harry’s heart lurches. “I don’t think now is the right time to discuss this.”

“It’s never the right time!” Harry cries out, unexpectedly loud, and Louis jumps. “There’s never going to be a ‘good time’, Louis.”

Louis gives him a funny look. “See, this is already ending up in an argument and we haven’t even  _ tried  _ to talk about things yet.”

Harry lets out a ragged breath. “I’m just tired. Confused.”

“Hmm,” Louis sighs softly, and Harry looks up at him. His mouth is set into a straight line grimace. Empathy, maybe? “You’re not the only one.”

Harry  _ wants  _ to say so much, he wants to jump up and down and stamp his feet and cry out that this isn’t fair and it’s ridiculous and that he hates it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns away. Makes an exaggerated display of turning and ignoring Louis. He  _ knows  _ it’s not helping his cause, he does.

“Fine, forget it then.” Louis mutters. Then, he’s gone again. The door slam isn’t the most violent he’s ever heard, but it echoes through his mind nonetheless. He falls asleep several hours later with tears of frustration dried on his cheeks.

 

*

 

There is nothing enjoyable about Tuesday at all. His back is screaming out at him in agony and it’s a busy day at the shop which an idiot might say is a good thing, but that is just crap. He doesn’t care about weddings or people and their stupid happiness; agonising over the difference between ivory and cream.

He gets a text from his mum mid-afternoon; he jumps out of his skin in his haste to see who it is from. Anne is still unaware of the situation he’s found himself in, so her cheery sing-song demeanour irritates him even further. He ignores the message and carries on sulking for the rest of the day, dropping in once again to Justin on the way home.

Once he’s home, the first thing he does is pack a king-size Rizla to the brim and roll it carefully.

 

*

 

A better night’s sleep makes Wednesday more bearable, thanks to the marijuana-induced coma he’d sent himself into the night before.

Yesterday he’d been in a perpetual state of irritation and had felt very woe-is-me (not that he’d admit that). Today, he is back to feeling numb. He finds himself with one eye on the shop window the entire day, expecting but not hoping to see Louis. He feels inexplicably disappointed at the same time as relieved. The incompatible feelings of hurt and of anger are driving him stir crazy.

“Hi, how can I help?” He puts on his game face when someone comes through the door, determined not to add ‘fired for incompetence and general misery’ to his list of problems right now.

The girl is no more than about twenty, Harry would gauge, timid and shy. He talks her through flowers that would complement each other best for her upcoming winter wedding, and does wonder to himself why she doesn’t have a mum or an auntie or  _ someone  _ with her.

Eventually, it comes up in conversation that the girl is only nineteen, so even younger than Harry had guessed. He wants to know why she’s marrying so young, why she seems upset about it, but he doesn’t pry. Most people who have come in this week have probably thought the same about Harry; why does someone so miserable work in a flower shop, the prettiest, happiest place on earth? He’s glad he hasn’t had to spill his guts to anyone apart from Alan.

When he was fourteen, Gemma was nineteen and he couldn’t imagine her settling down and getting married. He’d had a hard enough time dealing with it last year, when at age thirty Gemma had married Andy.

He tries not to let it cloud his judgement, and helps her work towards a lilac and silver colour scheme.

The rest of the day is quiet.

The rest of the night is quiet.

 

*

 

On Thursday he finally sets about texting his mum. He pretends everything is fine and sends an innocuous message asking if they can Skype at the weekend. Oblivious and just happy to hear from him, she replies a few minutes later with an entire row of smiling emojis. Curse whoever taught her emojis.

The only people to cross the doorway that day are a couple that had pre-booked a consultation with Alan so it’s a boring day of tidying the shop floor and keeping half an eye on the door.

“Are you going to be okay to work the fayres this weekend? Busy one, it is.” Alan asks as they’re standing out the front locking up for the evening. Harry had already checked over his shoulder twice; no Louis.

Harry pauses as he remembers and his heart sinks; he hopes his sigh didn’t sound as loud in the air as it did in his ears. For the last three years he’s been going to the wedding fayres; setting up a gazebo inside and charming the trousers off future brides and grooms, getting as many couples as possible interested in using them on their big days. He’d loved every second of it, but the thought of doing it this year makes him feel sick and he’d rather jump from the roof.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he notes he’ll have to move his Skype date with mum. The prospect of a  _ whole  _ weekend of wedding fayres when he’s not feeling it isn’t a pretty one. He knows from when Gemma was getting married that wedding fayres are the pinnacle of excitement for any bride – or indeed, groom – to be, but when you’re on the business side not the pleasure side, they’re distinctly less glamorous. This weekend is a big one: from Friday to Sunday there are four wedding fayres that Harry will be attending with the company.

Louis had got funny with him working all weekend the last time there was a big rush like this.

“Yeah of course, won’t let you down, boss.”

 

*

 

It’s still hazy and pale blue outside when Harry rolls reluctantly off the sofa on Friday morning.

He is up early purposely; he’s getting the bus. The car is still sitting across the road in their parking space, untouched for over a week now. Huh. Over a week. It seems Harry has missed the one week anniversary of the end of his life.

He trudges around the kitchen lifelessly, making a cup of tea and pulling a cigarette that he wouldn’t normally have. He doesn’t think about how he’s had to buy an extra pack this week; how it’s becoming more of a habit than ever before.

He builds up his courage shakily as he drinks; slowing down as he starts to get near the bottom of the mug. He can’t, however, put off the inevitable forever. He takes the last sip, the tea bitter and lukewarm. Decisively and with a deep breath he clunks the mug down and vaults up the stairs two at a time. He barges into his bedroom while he still has a shred of confidence. He stares resolutely ahead, not looking down or to the side as he grabs a clean work shirt and black skinnies. He doesn’t look at anything as he passes through either; he won’t look at the crumpled bed sheet or the haphazard collection of Polaroids and 6x4’s or the aftershave and moisturiser on top of the chest of drawers that wasn’t his.

The bus is just as shit as he remembers it being the last time he was on one. In the very early days, before flats and cars and responsibility happened, they’d travelled between each other’s houses by bus three or four times a week. He’s thankful to have his headphones with him now; he slips them in and rests his temple against the cold and clammy glass panel of the window.

The bus begins to slow down once they get nearer to the city centre, and the empty seats around him fill up. He spies the town hall, and presses the bell; the next stop is his. In fact, a lot of people disembark at the stop with him. He works out that he probably has enough time to grab a coffee to go, so he does, though he probably would have even if he didn’t have time.

The office block where they are hosting the wedding fayre protrudes from the concrete jungle in a showy display of floor to ceiling windows and two balcony areas half-way up. It sticks out on the horizon and Harry has seen it a million times but never been inside. As he strolls in the door, he rifles around in his jacket pocket for the pass Alan had given him yesterday, just in case someone mistakes him for a hopeless trespasser, because it wouldn’t be the first time at a place like this.

Once he’s inside, he gravitates towards the general direction of all the noise and finds their stand on the main row, three stands down. It is prime location and he knows Marina paid top dollar for it. He sets down his coffee and starts to help Alan with the setup, keen to avoid any questions.

Marina arrives a little bit after opening, with Jessica and Heidi, their two daughters who are in charge of the company website and designing the brochures and packaging. It soon becomes apparent that all three of the women are aware of his predicament with Louis because for the first hour or so they all walk on eggshells around him. Luckily, he’s neutrally numb enough to make it through without any direct questions.

Throughout the day, he gives out information packs to seventeen couples and promo packs to five different licenced venues; enough to keep him sufficiently distracted from the happiness and joy that surrounds him.

At the end of the day, they take down all of their promotional gear and example pieces but leave the gazebo in place, for tomorrow. He manages to get away by six. One of the cheapest selection of rooms in the nearby Travelodge awaits him as tomorrow is an early start and he’d managed to persuade himself that it made sense to stay nearby. Plus, he was looking forward to sleeping in an actual bed. He still can’t face his own.

The hotel receptionist looks at him a bit strange when he checks in without any luggage apart from his rucksack, but he doesn’t have the energy to try and explain it or even make a light-hearted small talk.

His hotel room is sterile and quiet; he turns the telly on just to turn it back off again. He showers in silence then changes wordlessly into his joggers and a t-shirt. He stares out of the third floor window in silence. The people below him are like ants, the cars little toy ones that zip up and down the road, stopping at red lights and beeping at pedestrians that dare to jaywalk a mere ten feet away from the crossing.

A ham sandwich he’d reluctantly purchased from the cafeteria earlier on at the fayre is thoroughly unappetising and he manages two displeased mouthfuls before chucking it in the bin and plugging in the kettle. He fills it with water from the bathroom sink and surveys the little pods of warm milk as he waits for the boil.

The quality of the cup of tea encapsulates his day quite well.

 

*

 

Not even the Reception staff are about when Harry leaves the hotel the next morning. It’s 07:03 as he shuffles out of the automatic door, cigarette between his lips. The Saturday fayres are much busier than Friday’s generally, the first runs from 8.30am to 2pm and then reconvenes at 3pm until 7pm. Harry scowls as he lights up and makes his way slowly up towards the town centre to the venue, his fake smile plastered on his face by the time the doors open to the public at half eight.

He’s got a headache by 11am, and Marina sends him off to the cafeteria with two Paracetamol and a pound to buy himself a tea. He’s under strict instructions not to come back for at least fifteen minutes; she can cover for him. The cafeteria is buzzing with Take That on the radio and deep fat fryers churning out sweaty horrible burgers and chips, but it's calmer than the main room. He takes his tea over to the corner and ducks his head as he sits down, facing the wall with his head in his hands; the epitome of anti-social.

The afternoon goes by marginally better than the morning. One of the brides is a bit flirty, which is wrong on two levels; not only is she engaged to be married, but he’s gay for Christ sake! He couldn’t be more giggly nervous and awkward around girls if he tried. Still, Marina seems to find it quite amusing - cheers for that, Marina.

He gets home at quarter to eight. His nausea builds the entire crappy bus journey, and it’s cold and when he pushes the door open to darkness and emptiness, for a second he kind of wishes Louis was here; lounging on the sofa with one hand down his trackies, a dirty plate on the coffee table and the heating cranked up too high. You know, just for some comfort and familiarity. But he shakes it off and tells himself repeatedly that he doesn't want  _ or  _ need those things; he’s just feeling sorry for himself.

He doesn’t need to be at the fourth and final wedding fayre until midday tomorrow so he rolls up a joint and warms up a tin of beans to tip over toast. He sighs audibly at his own miserable existence as he tips a handful of grated cheese on top of his beans, feeling irritated that cheese on top of his beans is the pinnacle of his day.

He has to put on a brave face to even get out the door on Sunday morning. He’d been dreaming about something and Louis was there and it had felt so real in that moment between wake and sleep that he’d called out for him, shooting off the sofa and ending up in a heap on the floor.

And that sets the tone for the rest of the day, really.

 

*

 

Holy shit.

He’s being burgled.

He’s going to be shot by a drug addict that he unknowingly looked at funny when coming out of Justin’s flat. This is the end.

Thank  _ bloody  _ God.

It’s Monday evening and he’s been climbing the walls all day, having been afforded a day off in lieu thanks to working the weekend, and this is where it all ends.

But… no. That’s a key turning in the door. This isn’t a hold up. Burglars don’t let themselves in with a key and pull the door closed softly, take off their shoes and let out sad sounding sighs.

Harry’s heart rate picks up once he realises he’s not being burgled; once he realises that the only other people with keys to the house are his mum, and Louis. He scrambles off the sofa in time to see Louis shuffle nervously into the room, not looking up.

“Shit,” Louis utters, taking a breath in when he eventually lifts his head to see Harry. He’d obviously not been expecting Harry to be here. It’s been exactly a week since Harry’s heard Louis’ voice in anywhere but his dreams. He sounds… different. Hoarse. Scratchy. “What’re you doing here?”

Harry rolls his eyes and turns on the sofa to look at his estranged boyfriend. He’s standing in the doorway between the room and the hall wearing his old fur-lined denim jacket and tracksuit bottoms. “Um, this is my house. I should be asking what  _ you’re  _ doing here?”

Louis’ eyes flicker and he nods. “Sorry, I… I didn’t think you’d be home yet.”

_ Why aren’t you at work  _ , he hears Louis silently ask, and part of Harry – the cantankerous, childish part – doesn’t want to offer up any explanation.

“Why are you here?” Harry asks again instead, not satisfied with Louis’ first (non) answer.

Louis’ gaze drops to the ground. “I wanted a few bits of mine.”

“So you thought you’d come in and creep about while I wasn’t in?”

Louis’ cheeks blaze with dusky colour and his face contorts. He continues to stare down at the ground and Harry can see his nostrils flare. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Harry stares at him in disbelief but then shrugs. “Well, I’m not stopping you.”

Louis doesn’t move. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he looks like he’s auditioning for the world’s scruffiest living statue.

“Get on with it then,” Harry says again, firmer this time, and Louis flinches. Harry’s heart fails him a bit.

Louis still doesn’t move. Well, he does, but not in the direction Harry was expecting. Louis moves across the room, comes around the sofa and sits down on the other one.

“What’re you doing?” Harry asks, feeling a bit panicked now. It’s not supposed to go like this.

“I can’t traipse about the place with you here… doesn’t feel right.”

Harry seems to remember Louis doing exactly that last week but he doesn’t mention it, just rolls his eyes and then fixes them resolutely on a spot on the carpet, away from Louis.

Louis is the first to break the odd silence they fall into, after a good five minutes or so that feels like a lifetime. Harry had been concocting cutting one liners and the perfect thing to best illustrate his distaste for the situation, but whenever he’d gone to put the words into his mouth, they’d faded away.

“Are you okay?”

Harry remembers the last time Louis had asked him that. He still isn’t okay and he still doesn’t see the point in even asking. So he almost doesn’t dignify it with an answer, but then he looks up and sees the genuine look of concern and misery on Louis’ face and it stops him dead in his tracks.

“I’m all right,” He answers quietly, before adding somewhat reluctantly, “You?”

Louis shrugs, looking down at the floor. “I… I guess I didn’t know it’d feel like this.”

“Lou-”

“I know, I know, it’s my choice. You don’t have to say it.”

A little bit more silence ensues, where Harry can’t think of how to recover. Yes, he’d wanted to remind Louis that this situation is a result of  _ his  _ actions, but he can’t bring himself to go any deeper. His pent up anger and frustrations and hurt that he’d expected would bubble over are merely simmering below the surface, off the heat and cooling gradually.

“How is it at Perrie and Ryan’s?” He asks eventually, and Louis pings back to alertness at the sound of Harry’s voice. “You enjoy having two roomies?”

Louis laughs but he’s not happy. He looks sad. “I keep leaving lolly sticks about the place. Pez keeps on thinking they’re nail files,” Louis speaks softly. “Driving her mad, I am.”

Harry manages a flimsy smile that isn't one of happiness either. “I bet she loves that.”

Louis murmurs in agreement and tries his own diluted smile. “I bet.”

“How much longer are you gonna stay there?”

Louis cards his fingers through his hair, messing it up completely. “Not yet.” He admits. “I mean… I can’t stay there much longer, I know that, but-”

“Yeah ‘cause you can’t stay there forever.” Harry emphasises, though it doesn't feel good.

“I know that, thank you.” Louis bites.

“Sorry, I just…”

“It’s fine,” Louis cuts him off while he’s still trying to find an ending for his sentence. “Hey, do you remember when you hid the Xbox controller on top of the kitchen cupboard so I couldn’t reach it?”

The sudden step backwards down memory lane catches Harry completely off guard and he laughs automatically at the memory of Louis charging across the room and leaping onto Harry’s back by way of an attack. Louis’d tried to cover his eyes and mouth with his hand but Harry had licked Louis’ palm and they’d fallen into a heap on the floor. It had ended with Louis climbing onto the worktop to get the controller himself, Harry calling “I won’t play your nurse if you fall!” from the living room.

The realisation that they might not have any more happy memories to add to their collection makes Harry feel a little bit sick. In fact, a lot sick. “Yeah, I remember that. Why did I do that? You must have done something to annoy me.”

“I can’t even remember.” Louis says pensively. “Isn’t that ridiculous?”

It  _ is  _ ridiculous. Harry nods and sighs deeply. “Yep.”

“I uh, I tried you on Friday night but, uh… you weren’t in.” Louis says, jumping onto yet another point.

“Oh, I uh- stayed in town. Busy weekend.” Harry says. The thought of that Travelodge room and the shite tea turns Harry’s stomach, and when he focusses on Louis he looks mildly horrified and Harry doesn’t really know why.

“What do you mean, you stayed in town?”

“In a Travelodge. We had four wedding fayres and had to be there at seven in the morning so thought I’d stay close by.”

“Oh,” Louis looks almost relieved. “I thought you might’ve… y’know, been out with someone, or summat?”

And… oh. Right. The look on Louis’ face makes sense now. Harry snorts; he can’t help it, it’s his first reaction. Louis had been Harry’s first and only; the boy who had taken his virginity and given him a lifetime of other firsts. If Louis thinks he’d just hop out of an eight year relationship and into the bed of another bloke, he obviously doesn’t know him as well as Harry thought he did.

“Are you kidding?”

Louis turns away. “Well, I didn’t know did I?”

“It was work. Like everything, it’s work.”

There’s a hint of sadness in the shrug that Louis offers. “I’m glad it was work. For once in my life, I’m glad it was your work and nothin’ else.

Harry opens his mouth even though he genuinely doesn't have any idea what he should say or do.

“And I know I’ve got no right to say that.” Louis says before Harry can decide.

“I wasn’t gonna say that,” Harry tells him, still unsure of what he  _ was  _ going to say but it doesn't seem as though it matters now.

“Can I just get some stuff and go?”

“You can do what you like, I’m not stopping you.” Harry answers, not unsurprised at all when Louis doesn’t move. “Louis?”

“Can I admit I was wrong? Does that make me a better person?”

Harry shrugs. “Depends if you mean it.” Louis doesn’t respond. “It doesn’t really matter, though, either way.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Harry counters. “Why shouldn’t I be honest? You didn’t have a problem with being honest that night.”

“Harry-”

“Lou, stop it.” Harry cuts him off before he can continue. “What you’re doing, it’s not fair, okay?”

“I’m not trying to upset things.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“I… I don’t know, okay. I don’t know what to do to make things right. I have no clue what to say or what to do or why I’m even here, this was stupid.”

Harry leans back, head resting on the back of the sofa. He runs his hands over his face, sighing with exhaustion. “It’s not… stupid.” He drags his hands away from his face and looks over at Louis. He examines every inch; the duskiness of his under eyes, the golden red undertones of his obviously neglected beard, the three freckles that form a triangle on his cheek.

“This is getting confusing isn’t it?” Louis rasps with a humourless, self-conscious laugh.

The anger that Harry had desperately been trying to hold on to, to save himself from the hurt, is slipping away as they sit there. Not quite side by side, not close enough to touch, but closer than they’ve felt in weeks, Harry gives up his pretence; he loves this man so much.

“Doesn’t have to be,” He whispers.

He’s close enough to see Louis’ eyes flicker, then Louis closes his eyes and tips his head back heavenwards. Wordlessly, he turns back again and slumps his body into Harry’s. He rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, his breathing turning erratic.

After balancing on the precipice between decision and indecision for a beat, Harry swallows down whatever it is that’s somersaulting in his chest and gets up, stepping silently across the room one, two, three, four steps to the opposite sofa. He sinks down next to Louis and folds his body into the side of the other. He feels Louis tense up but not shy away. Harry feels Louis’ arm come and wrap around his shoulder, lifts his arm and wraps his arm around Louis, his clenched fist smoothing out hesitantly, his palm eventually coming to rest gently on Harry’s arm. Louis bows his head, chin pressed to the top of Harry’s head. He can feel Louis’ erratic breathing and feel the air being expelled unevenly from his nose.

“I miss this.” Harry whispers, gripping the material of Louis’ t-shirt to try and keep a part of him close, overcompensating for the fragility of this moment and his uncertainty of the future.

But then he feels Louis swallow thickly. “Me too,” He whispers back, and things becoming decidedly more confusing in the blink of an eye. Time feels like it stands. Their bodies still fit together so well; so well they could be one single entity.

“Stay?” Harry asks before he can overthink it. He knows if Louis were to accept they’d be opening up a whole can of worms, but the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

Louis lets go of him and he’s forced to sit up. Louis blinks sleepily and Harry wonders for a moment whether Louis felt safe and comfortable enough with him to fall asleep in his arms. “No, Haz, I can’t. Not tonight.”

Louis vaults off the sofa, smoothing down his jeans and stifling a yawn behind his hand.

_ Yes you can,  _ Harry thinks to himself as he watches Louis pull down his hoodie, readjust himself and look fleetingly at him. “Why not?”

“I- can I take some clean clothes?” Louis says, ignoring Harry.

There is a mountain between the soft hope Harry had felt with Louis in his arms a moment ago, and the nightmare than is unfolding before him now. Harry can’t even find the energy to be upset or angry or even meekly polite, he just waves a whatever hand in the air.

He doesn’t get up to see Louis out and Louis doesn’t say goodbye.

Harry doesn’t know he’s crying until a sudden knot in his throat threatens to stop his breathing and he chokes out a sob, tears spilling from his eyes, down his face and onto his t-shirt. Elvis, who appeared God knows when, stalks over and looks at him curiously. His eyes burning into Harry with a look that says ‘what’s the matter dad, are you okay?’ but he too skulks away after another minute.

 

*

 

Life goes on, because there is no other option. Everything around Harry is unchanged in its physical sense; the buildings, the trees, the sky, the cars. No one else is bothered by the breaking down of his entire life but him.

So life keeps on going, until it stops again by way of a text from Louis on Wednesday.

**Lou:** _I’ve transferred you my half of the rent, plus a hundred for food and some petrol for the car. Get it back on the road, go do a big food shop and get elvis some of that nice cat food he likes. X_

Harry’s not sure if it’s the ‘X’ at the end that screams passive-aggressive or Louis’ flippant ‘here is my money, now sort your life out’ tone but it sends him over the edge. He’s sort of glad he didn’t read the message as soon as it vibrated in his pocket because he’d probably have destroyed the entire shop in front of the brides to be that he was explaining calla lilies to.

Outside in the little courtyard behind the shop, with a cigarette pulled between his lips he takes his phone out and his limbs go cold and tingly as he reads and re-reads the message. Without even thinking about it, he catapults his phone across the yard, the flimsy device pinging off the edge of a limestone plant pot and into a matted mess of weeds and dead flowers. He throws his cigarette to the floor and returns to work, keeping himself in the back room sorting out the ribbons and the cellophane wraps, letting an oblivious Alan take the customer that chimes through the door.

Before he does he stomps back to retrieve his phone; the corner caked in mud, the screen cracked like a spider’s web from the top left hand corner of the screen and the silver backing scraped and dented. He presses the home button and it lights up but the screen is jumpy with big blocks of colour where they shouldn’t be. He can see the letters ‘Lo’ moving around erratically on the screen before it goes dark again.

As soon as he gets home he gets Louis’ old MacBook out and sends Facebook messages out to say he’s broken his phone. He adds Niall, Liam, Perrie and Ed to the group chat, his mouse hovering over Louis’ tiny little profile picture. He stares at the shrunken down image until it goes blurry and he can count the amount of pixels it comprises.

Shaking his head decisively but nowhere near as sure-headedly as he wishes, he moves the mouse away without adding Louis to the chat and sends the message.

 

*

 

Harry had suspected the message wouldn’t take long to reach Louis. After sending it, he’d had a long night alone, sleeping seemingly never coming, and an equally horrific day at work that sheer willpower alone got him through. He doesn’t rush home after work; he goes to the shop and spends too long deliberating over crisps. He rolls the sleeves up on his lilac knitted cardigan and scuffs the toe of his boot along the edge of the shelving rack, aware of the shopkeeper watching him via the reflection in the overhead mirror. Eventually, he comes away with nothing anyway. He sends Justin a message while he is loitering, waiting for the boy to get back to him. Then he meanders slowly towards Justin’s flat, giving thought to each step.

It’s after half six by the time he’s ambling onto his street from the main road, and he’s pulled the sleeves of his cardigan down with the early evening chill. As he rounds the corner, he sees him. Louis is sat on the porch step, knees drawn in and arms slung around his knees. He springs up as he spots Harry.

Harry doesn’t say a word as he approaches; he keeps his gaze fixed on a spot in in the distance and approaches with a quiet confidence that he actually does not have. Inside, he is  _ flipping  _ out.

Louis steps back as Harry approaches the door, takes his key out calmly and opens the door. He holds it open for Louis but doesn’t look back.

“So you’ve broken your phone? You could’ve told me!” Louis explodes as he barges inside. “What the hell?”

“Uh, no. You’re wrong. I don’t need to tell you anything.”

“I didn’t know what you might’ve done, what you could’ve done to yourself, I didn’t know if you’d… God, look I just didn’t know!”

Harry snorts, feeling facetious. “Please, don’t flatter yourself.”

The look Louis gives him is acidic. “Sorry for caring.”

“Caring?” Harry repeats. “Did I hear that right? You haven’t cared about me in a long while, Louis! You just turn up here all high and mighty feeling some sort of entitlement to know what’s going on when you’re the one who left! Where do you get off? And what’s more, you keep coming here and stirring the pot, mixing things up just a little bit and making things  _ even  _ harder, then you fuck off again!”

“That’s what you think is it?” Louis utters, voice a million decibels softer than the previous screaming, and Harry sinks right down with him. “You think I don’t care? Don’t care if you’re safe or not?”

Harry shrugs. He’s not sure of anything right now apart from the fact that what’s spewing out of his mouth and what’s rattling around inside his head are two very different viewpoints. “Don’t care what you think really.”

“Well if that is what you think then you’re wrong. Just because… this happened, doesn’t mean I don’t care. In fact, it probably shows how much I do care.”

Harry laughs though it’s not funny. “Oh really, and how the fuck d’you figure that one out?”

“We were killing each other Harry, dragging each other down. That’s not fair on either of us.”

“Oh so you saved me, did you? Saved me from myself or saved me from hurt, like some sorta superhero? Oh well, I should be thanking you then, shouldn’t I!” Harry spits sarcastically. “ _ Thank you,  _ Louis!”

Louis frowns at him. “This is… it’s whatever, I’ll just-” Louis gestures towards the front door.

“That’s it! Go and do what you do best: walk in, act like the entitled, selfish prick bastard that you are and then go again. You’re good at that, really. By the way, I really loved that last text, ‘here is my money to sort you out, PS don’t forget to feed the cat’. Like, where would I be without the almighty Louis here to save the day, despite the fact it was him who walked out in the first place! It might come as a shock to you,  _ Louis  _ but I don’t need your help!”

Harry is lying. He couldn’t be further from the truth if he tried.

“Forget this-” Louis starts to say, making for the door.

“No, you’re here now, might as well say what you’ve come here to say!” Harry insists, aware of the whiplash-inducing erratic nature of his argument. “You keep on showing up; you must have something you need to tell me!”

Louis stares back at him, unmoving apart from the fierce rise and fall of his chest, anger flaring in his blue eyes. “You’re just so… I- fucking hell, Harry-”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Harry asks, rhetorically really, surging forward and launching himself at Louis. Louis reaches out to grab hold of the nearest thing, the gaping front of Harry’s cardigan, as Harry sends them crashing back into the wall, the key holder precariously close to the back of Louis’ head. He crowds Louis and rakes the fingers of one hand through his hair as Louis glances up at him, eyes fixed but face turned away slightly.

“Because I can.”

Harry can feel his blood boiling. “You left me!” He almost hisses. They’re millimeters apart, and then there is negative space between them. Harry knows he is making a mistake in kissing Louis but Louis is kissing him back, letting him slip his tongue into his mouth and slam his hips jarringly into his own. Louis flattens against the wall and wraps his own arms around Harry’s body, keeping them close.

“You let me leave.” Louis adds, his lips moving against Harry’s.

“You gave up. You’re spineless and pathetic.” Harry clips back, allowing Louis back in again. He presses his body subconsciously into Louis’, pressing him hard against the wall, rocking his hips back and forth just a bit because he just can’t stop himself.

“I had to find out from Liam! From Liam!” Louis explodes suddenly, abruptly turning his head away. And well, Harry had his money on Perrie being the one to gossip. “When did we let this happen?”

“You left!” Harry mutters tightly. “You don’t get to turn up here angry that I didn’t reply to your texts!”

Harry realises their bodies are still pinned tight together, then, almost as if he could read his thoughts, Louis pushes him back, wriggles out of his clutches and makes for the door.

“You could’ve told me!” Louis says again, and his argument seems pretty shaky.

“I don’t, you know?” Harry says weakly.

Louis recoils like he’s just been slapped. “What?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything, we’re not together, are we?”

Louis looks like he’s just been slapped. Breathless, his chest rises and falls as he feels behind him for the wall to prop himself up.

“I’m not having this.”

“Having what?” Louis utters hoarsely.

“You pinnin’ this on me. Get out!”

Louis springs back to life, like he’s seen red. “Fine. I’m done trying to save this. An’ you know what? Fuck you and your fucking phone and everything, okay. When you get a new one don’t fucking speak to me, okay? Don’t come looking for me, don’t show up at Perrie’s; don’t even speak to her, okay?”

“Get out!”

Harry turns his back on Louis and doesn’t see him leave. The echoing stillness that follows comes crashing down on Harry like a tidal wave and his breath suddenly won’t come.

For nearly eight years, Louis’ life has been Harry’s life. They’d grown to share much more than just a home; Harry hadn’t really had friends, obviously, before Zayn and much of his adult life had been shaped in the arms of his relationship with Louis. As a result of meeting Louis he’d gained love, friends and a home. But these people were Louis’ friends first and even though Harry had grown close to them all, especially Liam, Sophia and Niall, he’s going to lose them in the divorce too. Not that Niall counts; he’d already lost Niall years ago.

He’s irritated by the prickle on his own skin from Louis’ scruffy face, and by the ghost of the feeling of his body so close. Who does he think he is, barging in and acting like Harry owed him an explanation when he’s the one that walked out in the first place? He’s the one who didn’t want to try, not Harry.

The overwhelming feeling that the last eight years of his life have effectively been a waste of time dawns on Harry then, whether it’s true or not, and that ignites sparks in his blood that fill him with heat and rage. He throws himself at the thin wall, slamming his flattened palm at the surface, creating a definite dent with the heel of his palm and two surface cracks that splinter off.

Now he’ll never get his deposit back.

His anger ends up being productive though, in a twisted way, because he changes the bed, hoovers, bleaches the loo and throws two bin bags of crap out. His anger helps dampen his feelings of utter despair enough for him to fall asleep that night for the first time in his bed instead of the sofa.

 

*

 

Harry fights his way through the week, getting up and accomplishing each day but feeling no better for it. He realises on Wednesday that he’d missed his Skype date with his mum and hadn’t replied to her Facebook messages asking if he was okay and what was the matter. He bends the truth a bit and lies that he lost his phone but is honest that he was working the weekend. He leaves out any and all interaction he’s had with Louis this week, and re-arranges their Skype call for the next evening.

He’s going to tell her tonight; he’s got to. It’s been almost three weeks; he can’t hide forever. Sooner or later someone will slip up or she’ll turn up at the door with plans and she’ll notice that Louis and all of his things and every last trace of him isn’t there. So, Harry props his head up on the arm rest of the sofa with his laptop resting on his belly and his cup of tea already gone cold on the coffee table and waits for the connection to go through. His mum answers on the second attempt and he’s greeted by a slightly pixelated close up of her cheek and left eye.

“Ooh dear, that’s a bit close, how do I- oh, there you are! Hello love, all right?” Anne beams back at him, finally coming into shot.

He waves back to her. “Hey, mum.”

“I’m rubbish with this Skype business, I think I almost blew the computer up trying to get this thing going! Ohh, I like the hair, very smart!”

Harry smiles back. God he misses this woman. Maybe now he has free time at the weekends and the car to himself he could drive up and visit her more. “Thanks.”

“Are you all right, darling? Where’s Lou, is he well?”

Harry smiles nervously again, like it’s the only face he can manage. “He’s gone, mum.”

“Gone?” Anne repeats, the camera choosing that exact moment to pause, her face drawn into a confused, cautious quirk. Then, the connection catches back up to them again and his mum looks like she’s seen a ghost. “Gone where darling?”

Harry tries a brave face, yet another fake smile, but it gives out to his emotions and the nervy laugh he lets out is the last shreds of his composure giving out. “We’ve split up,” His voice cracks on the word ‘up’ and his hands tremble as he reaches up to run the edge of his index fingers underneath his wet eyes.

His mum gets him to talk through it all, from the weeks before that awful Thursday night, right up to the present day. There are lots of tears and watery laughs and his step-dad bursts in halfway through wondering what the noise is about to find them both in tears midway through the part in the story where Harry had worked the wedding fayres.

He doesn’t mention their kiss last Thursday night; just leaves it as a simple ‘we had another row’. His mum had listened to every word with her hands laced together and clutched to her chest and her head tilted to the side sadly. By the time they’re finished, more than an hour has passed and it’s dark outside. He leans over and switches on the side lamp.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice it get dark.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart, neither did we.” Anne says, looking to Robin for reassurance.

“Get yourself some dinner, kiddo, it’ll help.” Robin offers.

Harry nods. He thinks food is futile really. He’d much rather get stoned and fall asleep but he won’t tell them that. “I will do. Cheers for listening, and sorry for crying.”

“Sweetheart, don’t ever apologise for your emotions,” Anne says promptly. “Give me a ring or a Skype-thing or whatever if you need me. And I won’t mention anything to Gems, okay?”

Harry agrees. “I’ll tell her soon. I’ll speak to you guys soon too, okay? Love you lots.”

 

*

 

The end of the week is as lonely as the start was. Harry feels like loneliness is quite the overriding feeling that has come from this mess. He only has Elvis for company, and he’s a man of very few words.

Apart from Alan and work customers, the only other person he speaks to is Justin, and Justin has no idea that Harry even has – had – a boyfriend so when Justin jokingly mentions the fact Harry has been purchasing more frequently than normal, Harry just laughs it off and puts it down to stress.

He spends his rock’n’roll Friday evening choosing between rolling another spliff or getting in the bath, scrolling aimlessly through Gemma’s new pictures of Frankie on Facebook, when a message from Perrie pops up.

**Perrie Stevens:** _Hey babe. Not got your phone fixed yet? Or are you just ignoring me?? Either way, don’t forget we’re going out tomorrow tonight for my birthday. I really want you to be there, it won’t be the same without you. Love you lots, let me know ASAP please. Pez xox_

_ Shit  _ , Harry thinks, blowing out a long sigh as he reads and re-reads Perrie’s message. He’d completely forgotten about that. She’d mentioned it ages ago, in March, when it still seemed so far off.

“…don’t fucking speak to me, okay? Don’t come looking for me, don’t show up at Perrie’s; don’t even speak to her, okay?”

Louis’ words echo in his mind until they’re mush. He doesn’t think Perrie would accept ‘Louis said I can’t be your friend’ as an excuse not to go to her birthday meal, but it doesn’t stop Harry typing out the very words and then deleting them again. Perrie probably wouldn’t accept any excuse and he doesn’t want to miss it but at the same time he doesn’t want he and Louis’ situation to ruin what would otherwise be a lovely night for Perrie’s twenty seventh birthday.

For now, he leaves Perrie’s message unanswered and goes to Louis’ profile, opening their message thread. They hadn’t used Facebook as a means of communication since 2011; Harry was asking Louis what time he should arrive at Jay’s house, back then. Harry can’t even remember that specific visit.

He tries to fashion something to Louis, figuring his ex-partner of almost a decade would be easier to approach, but every time he ends up holding down the backspace until all his feeble attempts are gone. Sighing, he goes back to Perrie’s messages and drags the cursor to the text box.

**Harry Styles:** _I wouldn’t miss it for the world xx_

 

*

 

Another week passes, no word from Louis, and Friday night comes. Harry arrives twenty five minutes after the arranged time of half past seven, just to make sure there'd be no awkward encounters arriving.

His newly-replaced iPhone has been on charge all day and currently his one and only contact is Perrie. He checks her message one last time before he crosses over the road towards the main doors of the restaurant.

**Perrie:** _Yay, I'm so chuffed. We're on a long table just past the sign for the loos, can't miss us xx_

His tummy feels all jumbled as he extends a clammy hand to push the door open. It’s a mahogany coloured wood with a circular glass panel that is steamed up and fingerprinty. Harry’s hot as soon as he steps inside.

"Good evening, sir!" A peppy waiter greets him.

“Hi, uh, party of the name Stevens? Sorry I'm late."

"Of course, this way sir,"

Harry follows silently, staring resolutely at the floor and not daring to look anywhere else. He can hear Perrie’s unmistakable laugh and Liam’s accent above the general din of the place and as the waiter slows down ahead of him. He takes a deep breath and looks up to see them all there.

The couples are together; Liam and Sophia opposite each other at one end, Perrie next to Liam and then Ryan and an empty chair, then an empty seat between Sophia and Zayn and a frankly beautiful girl on the end next to Zayn that Harry’s never met before. The seat next to Ryan is pushed out and an almost finished beer and an unfolded serviette means that must be Louis’ seat; the only one that’s currently missing, apart from Harry himself.

"Hi," he almost mouths, his heart having moved into his throat. He clears his throat feebly. "Sorry I'm late."

He folds himself into his seat, snatching up the napkin promptly to give his hands something to do.

"You okay, babe?" Sophia says softly, just for him, as he’s shuffling awkwardly out of his coat. Harry just nods, keeping his gaze lowered until he's settled in. His palms are itching and his heart is beating out of his chest and out of time. It's bloody _ ridiculous  _ \- these people are his best friends. With a deep breath, he looks up to meet Perrie’s gaze.

"Happy birthday, gorgeous," He says across the table, nodding a greeting to Ryan. He can't help the pang of irrational annoyance he feels knowing that they've spent the day - hell, the last three weeks - with Louis; knowing what he's doing and where and when and with who.

Shaking those thought away as irrational, he turns to his right and greets Zayn. He smells beautiful, as per usual, and even though it’s been months since they’ve seen each other properly it doesn’t feel like it.

“Haz, this is Naheda,” Zayn leans back in his seat and the beautiful girl with him – Naheda – leans across, offering a delicate hand with perfect nails and an amber coloured ring on her middle finger.

“Hi, lovely to meet you, I’m Harry.” He shakes her hand and offers an award winning smile. He wonders momentarily if Zayn has clued her in on the in-group dynamics, but decides he can’t let those sorts of thoughts keep tripping him up.

“You too," She smiles sugar-sweetly. “I love your hair.”

Harry smiles and blushes his way through a mumbled thank you, bringing up a hand to his hair self-consciously. Zayn and Naheda return to the default position, turned in towards each other, Zayn’s arm slinked around the back of Naheda’s chair casually. The same irrational annoyance that he felt with Perrie and Ryan is back again. He watches Naheda throw her chocolate brown waves over her shoulder and twist a strand around her nail casually as she and Zayn tune into what Ryan is saying. Harry looks at the way Perrie and Ryan gravitate towards each other, mimicking each other’s expressions; and how Liam is watching Sophia as he daydreams.

God, this is going to be a long evening.

He looks back down again with a small sigh. He stares at his place setting; lovely silver cutlery, a thick, expensive looking serviette folded into a fan and a tumbler for the complimentary water. He reaches out for the jug and pours a glass, feeling pathetic.

As he sets the jug down, he feels something against his leg. Sophia is inconspicuously leaning in towards him, nudging his thigh with her knee. He keeps his gaze lowered but turns to her.

"Where is he?" Harry asks telepathically, nodding his head back almost undetectably at the only remaining empty seat next to Ryan. Her own eyes shift over towards the bar area and Harry nods. His clothes feel too tight still, and he's no cooler with his coat removed.

Harry keeps his head down; everyone knows his deal and he’s sure Zayn will have brought Naheda up to speed on things so it’s not like his anti-social behaviour will come as a surprise to anyone. He keeps his head down until he feels Sophia’s palm sweep over his thigh, giving him a comforting squeeze, and he knows then. Harry watches Louis out of the corner of his eye, not lifting his head. He saunters back from the bar; bouncy and a bit waddly like he's always been. He’s got a beer in one hand, his phone in the other and a blank, emotionless expression on his face. He doesn't look at Harry, but why would he? They're not together. They're not even mates. They're sat almost as far as is humanly possible away from each other and they haven't spoken in eight days.

He looks so good though. Dark indigo jeans sit a bit baggy on his frame, with a grey jumper that glows a sort of heather shade in the light. The fuschia centerpiece complements Louis perfectly, Harry thinks. He only allows himself half a second to look while Louis’ back is turned, before plucking a menu out of the holder and flipping it open.

Before long, there is a soft, fleeting hand on his shoulder and he almost jumps out of his skin. With his arm stretched behind Sophia, it's Liam looking at him closely. “Coming to the bar, mate?" He asks flatly, his eyes shifty like Harry really doesn't have any choice. Nodding, he pushes his chair out with backs of his knees and follows Liam out. He doesnt look around to see if anyone,  _ Louis,  _ watches him go.

“I didn’t know Zayn had a girlfriend,” Harry goes first, before Liam has a chance to mention the dreaded L-word.

Liam rolls his eyes, he knows Harry is deflecting. “No, she’s only been on the scene a month or two I think. Seems nice enough. Who knows, maybe she’s The One this time.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees noncommittally, letting his eyes wander. The odds of Naheda being Zayn’s ‘One’ are pretty slim, given his track record, but you just never know. His mind wanders; this is a nice restaurant, he should come here again. Although, on second thoughts, no; solo dining is fucking tragic.

“Beer?”

“Please.”

Liam orders their drinks and drums his big hands on the bar as they wait. It’s equal parts unsettling and soothing; strange. Their silence vocally is about to make Harry’s head explode though, and he has to break it.

“I’m not going to get drunk and make a tit of myself.” He says, and Liam whips around quicker than a toddler hearing a chocolate bar wrapper opening.

“I- uh, I didn’t think you would.”

“I dunno about him, but…” Harry trails off. He can’t even bring himself to bad mouth Louis.

”Haz,” Liam chastises. It’s not a warning, it’s not sympathetic, it’s just… it’s just there. “You’ll be all right, okay?”

The words sound most unconvincing in Harry’s ears but he nods anyway. “Yeah, I know. At least we’re not even talking anymore. That makes things easier, in a sick way.”

“How long’s it been?”

“A week?” Harry surmises. “It’s better this way. I’ll never move on if- well.”

Liam just looks sad, like a stricken puppy. “You’ll make it through.”

Liam carries the beers back and Harry carries something clear and fruity in a tall, narrow glass for Sophia. He pops it down and sits back down next to her without making eye contact with a single soul. He takes a long sip and watches the froth cling to the inside of the glass, sliding down into the foamy head of the golden liquid. The chatter around him isn’t any different, really, since he’s returned to the table but it sort of feels like it is. Perrie flashes a silver charm bracelet across the table at Sophia, pointing out a heart shaped charm with an April diamond in the centre.

Sophia oohs and Liam remarks that he’ll come to Ryan for tips on the perfect birthday gift next time. Even Zayn makes a witty quip as well and Naheda laughs; all sweet and tinkling. In fact, the only voice he can’t hear, other than his own, is Louis’.

He drags his eyes away from Perrie’s new bracelet and risks a look down the table in the opposite direction. Louis is leaned forward on his elbows, arms crossed over and phone clutched tight in one hand. He’s right on the edge of his seat, like he’s not planning on staying long.

Their eyes meet for a second and it’s Louis who looks away first, quickly unlocking his phone and staring down at it to busy himself. With the glow of his phone illuminating him, with every rise and fall on his face catching light and casting shadowy sweeps over his features, he looks skinnier than he ever has done before. He looks drawn and pale and dull. Not shining with energy like the Louis he met all those years ago in a smelly, cramped van on the way to Southend.

Harry looks away too a heartbeat later, back down at his beer. The bubbles whizz around on the surface, glowing gold, before bursting into nothingness. Zayn gets the next round in; Harry is exposed without his old friend next to him while Zayn is away at the bar. He keeps his gaze pointed up the other end of the table, keeping himself as involved in the conversation as he can.

Getting all eight food orders done is a drama in itself and Harry keeps out the commotion once he’s ordered his. Between the side orders and the mains, the million different types of rice and the enquiries with regards to spiciness, it’s hectic and there’s lots of chatter. Hearing Louis’ voice properly for the first time in over a week is particularly tough, and then when he gets up, pushing his chair back with the backs of his knees and sweeping by the table leaving his woody citrusy smell in his wake, Harry has to fight the urge to go after him.

He twitches in his seat a bit, his cheeks burning with unease and that horrible yet familiar feeling of not knowing. Sophia’s discreet hand on his knee just confirms how pathetic he must look. Everyone is thinking it, he knows it. His cheeks feel so hot he’s sure he’s as red as a ketchup bottle.

“You okay, babe?” Sophia asks, gripping his leg a bit tighter. He doesn’t dare look up because he’s sure all eyes are on him. All sympathetic, pitying eyes.

He makes a noise in his throat because it’s all he can do. He’s not okay and he doesn’t know how much longer he can continue to pretend to be okay tonight. Sophia reaches for his hand and holds it tight, standing up from the table and pulling him along with her.

“Me and H are going to the bar,” She announces, not letting his hand drop. She guides him, not towards the bar but to the loos. Getting to the toilets is a blur; Harry doesn’t see a thing as they move until they’re crashing into the disabled toilet. Sophia bolts the door behind them and plonks him down on the down-turned toilet seat.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to have a panic attack.” She says, leaning in at him and gripping his biceps, watching him closely.

“I’m not,” Harry assures her.

“Not okay or not going to have a panic attack?”

“Not going to have a panic attack,” He replies, slumping back against the cistern. The cool of the white ceramic seeps through the material of his shirt and makes breathing a little easier. He takes a few deep breaths and closes his eyes.

“Keep breathing,” Sophia instructs him, crouching down to his level. “Do you wanna go home?”

Harry shakes his head glumly. “No. I don’t want to make a scene. Besides, we’ve ordered the food now.”

“You’ve got as much right to enjoy yourself this evening as anyone, Harry.”

He nods but he doesn’t believe her. He sighs deeply around a hitched breath. “He told me not to call him, not to try and find him at Perrie and Ryan’s, not to even speak to Perrie.”

Sophia looks at him as if calculating her response. “Haz…”

“How am I… we share everything. Not just our lives but you guys too. I- he can’t expect me to lose all of you guys too.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it literally,” Sophia tries to reason. “I bet you both said things in the heat of the moment. When was the last time you talked?”

“Over a week ago,” Harry says unhappily. “We uh, it went wrong again.”

“What happened?”

“We just rowed - nothing new there. I uh… I- nothing, it just-”

“Harry, what did you do?” Sophia asks sternly, in the tone one might address a child.

“We kissed,” Harry answers, not raising his glance to meet hers. “But… it was only once. Then we started arguing again and he left.”

“Fucking hell, Harry...” Sophia breathes out. Sophia  _ never  _ swears. “That doesn’t help matters, y’know?”

He  _ does  _ raise his eyes then. “I know that.” He replies sharply, before slouching back down miserably. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t… I miss him.”

“Well, you’ve both had too many beers tonight to be making any sort of decisions, so stay away from him.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest but just gulps in air as Sophia continues.

“Let him go home with Perrie and Ryan and I’ll take you home. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t text him or ring him or answer him if he contacts you, okay? Promise me?”

Harry scoffs. “Fat chance of that, he doesn’t have my number now.”

Sophia tilts her head to the side. “That’s good. For now, I mean. Are you okay to go back out now? The food will be coming shortly, and we’ve only ‘gone to the bar’.” She makes air quotes around the words.

Harry nods, reaching up to re-button his shirt. “Yeah. Walk out with me?”

“Of course, you great oaf.” Sophia smiles. “And I guess this means you need my number?”

“Sorry, I don’t take numbers from girls.” Harry says weakly, and Sophia laughs with her head tipped back.

Conversation is flowing when they return to the table, without fresh drinks but who believed Sophia’s flimsy excuse anyway? Nobody. Louis is back in his seat, turned towards Zayn listening to whatever conversation they’re half way through. As he sits down, he catches Louis’ eye and Harry thinks there might’ve been the slightest hint of concern in the blue orbs but actually there is barely any recognition at all.

The food arrives not too long after and so gives Harry a valid reason to stare down at the table. He picks aimlessly at his food, declining a taste of Perrie’s dish when she offers it to him. He doesn’t dare look at Louis again, blindly accepting his fourth beer when it’s handed to him.

A few of them order fragrant fruit sorbets for pudding and Harry sits nursing his unsettled tummy as they eat. He could murder a cigarette right about now. He continues to ignore Louis the best he can and when it’s time to say their goodbyes, Louis is conveniently in the loos.

Sophia ushers him and Liam to the car, muttering something about ‘do up your own bloody seatbelt’ to Liam. He can smell Perrie’s perfume on his coat from where he’d squeezed him goodbye, and he closes his eyes and rubs his temple sharply as he realises that’s about as close to Louis as he’s going to get; smelling the perfume of the girl he is temporarily living with.

 

*

 

Sleep came easily after getting back from the restaurant, which is the one benefit to drinking, Harry supposes. And he’s aware of how ridiculous that statement is.

Harry wakes up to birdsong and unfiltered light streaming in through the window, thrown across the room in columns. It’s the first morning since he’d started sleeping in this room again that he doesn’t wake up at some point during the night, and he has the alcohol to thank for that.

Elvis nudges the door open with his nose and comes dashing in when he hears Harry stir. He leaps up onto the bed and settles inside the curvature of Harry’s body. He runs his fingers through Elvis’ fur, tickling the black patch between his ears and running his flattened palm over the expanse of his tummy carefully.

“All right, mate?” He asks him. He’s greeted with silence, of course, but it doesn’t stop him. “Do you miss dad? Yeah, me too mate. I bet he misses you too.”

Elvis twitches his nose and stretches a leg out, his tiny little claws separating as he goes. Harry mindlessly counts them, as if he doesn’t already know the answer.

“I miss dad a lot, actually. I don’t like this place without him, do you?” Silence. “I’ll take that whisker twitch as a no.”

Elvis makes for pretty good company, hanging around for a good hour before unfurling himself and stalking off, leaping off the bed majestically.

He closes his eyes and half-heartedly dusts cat hair off the duvet. It’s still warm where Elvis had laid. He’s just about to maybe drift back off when he hears his phone vibrate on the bedside table.

**Soap:** _Wakey wakey sleeping beauty, are you okay today? Soph x_

 **Harry:** _I’m up. Yeah im okay. Cuddling my man x_

 **Harry:** _Elvis._

 **Soap:** _Give him a cuddle from me. You know where we are if you need us, fancy a roast tomorrow? Come round about 2? x_

**Harry:** _ Thank you, you actual angel xxx _

Harry decides he’d better get out of bed; it’s almost one in the afternoon. It seems quite pleasant outside from where he’s lying. Well, the sky is blue; he doesn’t know if it carried on raining last night after he’d gone in from a lonely, pathetic smoke in the back garden.

The rest of the day is quiet. He’s silent until the afternoon when he rings his mum on his new phone, saving her number into his contacts and getting a long list of numbers from her, including Robin, Gemma, Gemma’s husband Andy and his Nan’s home number. Harry’s sure that last one is a subtle reminder to him to give her a call and let her know he’s okay. He’s not quite ready for that phone call.

He tells her he’s been out for Perrie’s birthday and that he’s going to Liam and Sophia’s for lunch tomorrow, and that appeases her. By the time he’s done, he’s almost convinced even himself that he’s okay.

Almost.

 

*

 

Harry notices something on his phone as he’s unlocking it to text Sophia.

It’s the 1st May. Officially a new month.

He’s successfully made it twenty four nights without Louis. Well, ‘successfully’ might not be the right word, and the ‘without’ part has been at times slightly less literal, but he’s still alive so that’s something.

It’s blindingly bright outside as he enjoys his morning cigarette that is becoming too much of a habit. He perches on the doorstep, comfortable in his grey tracksuit bottoms and black V-neck t-shirt that probably originally was Louis’, but whatever. The grass is bone dry from the first rain-free night in a long while, and just a few fluffy white clouds slink silently past.

His cigarette burns down as he watches the sky, letting the warmth splash over his face. He takes one last lungful and stubs it out on the patio slab, reaching for his tea to wash it down with.

He’s watching the reflection of a nearby tree in the shed window when a voice shakes him back to reality.

“Hello love, how are you?” Sharon from next door is stood at her washing line with a basketful of kid’s clothes, peering over at him with a kind, motherly smile. She clips small t-shirts and brightly coloured stripy tights to the washing line at the speed of light.

“I’m fine thanks, how’re you?” He asks.

“Oh y’know, rushed off my feet, my very swollen feet!” She lifts one leg and as she swings the washing basket onto her hip he sees a definite baby bump. “Seven weeks to go!”

He hadn’t even noticed. Even before his life spiralled into a pathetic pit of sadness, he hadn’t noticed she was pregnant. He’s glad he’d put his cigarette out before she’d come outside now.

“Oh congratulations!” Harry enthuses, cradling his tea. He’s automatically jealous. “Do you know what it is?”

“Boy,” She beams proudly. “Where’s your better half, haven’t seen him around for a couple of weeks. Everything okay?”

Harry wonders how much she knows. The walls in these houses aren’t very thick, they’ve probably heard he and Louis’ screaming rows. He smiles wistfully and just nods. “He’s… fine. Away with work quite a bit.”

It’s the least convincing lie he’s ever told.

“Ah, that’s tough I’m sure. But take care Harry, look after yourself.”

“I will,” He replies, giving her a little confirmatory wave. “Congratulations again.”

Sharon goes back inside and Harry sits there for a bit longer, smokes another fag and listens to the kids next door playing until the sun goes behind a cloud. Then he heaves himself off the step and wanders back inside for a shower.

It had been his intention to walk to Liam and Sophia’s, but by the time he’s got out the shower, done his hair (he’s still struggling with styling the shorter do) and had another smoke, he’s left himself a bit short on time. So, he plucks the car keys off the hook by the front door and stares down at the boxy plastic key with trepidation. A week or two ago he would’ve marched straight past the vehicle and put himself through hell and high water just to avoid it.

But today is different. It’s the first of May and he’s not being a doormat anymore. A doormat who is afraid of his own car. Ridiculous.

He steps outside, back into the warmth, patting down his pockets as he goes. He’s got his phone, his fags, lighter and the keys are in his hand. The front door clunks closed and he turns the key in the lock, determinedly trying to ignore the nervous itching of his palms.

He goes into autopilot as he gets in the car. Once he’s got the door firmly closed and he’s in the driver’s seat, with the heavy roar of his own blood in his ears, he grips the steering wheel tight until his knuckles go pale. He’d told himself he was prepared but right now it doesn’t feel like he is. A half-drank can of Red Bull left behind by Louis is in the cup holder, a balled up paper bag from Greggs is stuffed into the change holder and a black Adidas hoodie is tossed down in the footwell. It smells of Louis too; his aftershave.

“Shit fuck shitty fucking twat!” He growls angrily at himself, releasing the steering wheel and slamming his flattened palms into it. It stings. He starts the engine and tries to remember what to do with his feet. Where is the reverse gear?

He’s amazed he makes it to Sophia and Liam’s alive.

 

*

 

“Soph, where are the Yorkshire puddings?” Liam asks, staring down incredulously at the plate he’d been presented with.

“Oh _ sorry  _ Liam!” Sophia flops down into her seat and begins gesticulating at the three dinners. “I was so busy taking care of the chicken, the veg, the mash, the roast potatoes, gravy  _ and  _ setting the table while you were watching telly that I forgot the Yorkies! D’you reckon you can cope without them?”

Liam bugs his eyes and then laughs. “All right! Sorry, touchy!”

“It’s all right, they probably wouldn’t be as good as Louis’ anyway,” Harry quips, and Liam’s neck snaps up so fast he could’ve seriously injured himself. Sophia looks up too, her eyes hovering over the space between them nervously.

“I can say his name, y’know, it won’t make me explode into smithereens.” Harry says, holding his fork in mid-air, carrot speared.

“I know,” Liam says defensively. “Sorry, I know. I don’t… sorry.”

“Right, well!” Sophia exclaims. “Enough chat! Tuck in, it’s getting cold.”

Harry doesn’t let one minor hiccup ruin the rest of the afternoon. Sophia’s cooking is delicious and the roast goes down a treat. Harry muses to himself that his work t-shirts that had been feeling a bit loose these past few weeks will soon not be so loose with his return to semi-normal eating. Nursing a food baby, he spends much of the afternoon spread out on the sofa with an endless stream of cups of tea and some rubbish made-for-TV drama on channel five.

Sometime just before five, he feels Sophia’s toe poke him in the thigh. He shifts on the sofa and turns to her, following her pointed gaze. Liam is absolutely soundo on the sofa, mouth open and fingertips tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

“Everything still okay, love?” She says softly across the room.

He turns his head to look at her. He nods solemnly. “It will be.”

Sophia lifts herself up off the sofa and climbs onto Harry’s with him, curling herself up into a ball at the end between his legs and the sofa cushions. “Promise me?”

“Yeah,” He says sadly. “It’s a new month now, I noticed it this morning. Maybe it’s a sign it’s time to move on.”

Sophia looks conflicted.

“Three weeks to get over an eight year relationship?” He says, knowing full well how ridiculous that sounds. “It’s… that’s not realistic is it?”

Sophia shakes her head. “No, babe. I don’t think it is.”

“How am I supposed to… how do I move on?”

Sophia sighs sadly. “Just take every day as it comes. Ask for help when you need it. Don’t beat yourself up if you back slide a bit.”

Harry nods. Liam and Sophia have been together longer than he and Louis. He couldn’t picture them breaking up, ever. He doesn’t think that’s fair at all.

He mulls over Sophia’s words and she gently rubs his shin.

“Does he ever come here?” He asks, though he doesn’t really want to know and Sophia looks like he doesn’t really want to tell him.

“Not often,” She says eventually. He stayed for one night, to give Perrie and Ryan a night off. I think he came round once, I wasn’t here - shopping with my sister.”

“He can’t stay with them forever can he?”

“No,” Sophia agrees. “D’you have any idea where he’d go?”

Harry shrugs despondently, because he doesn’t have a clue. “He’s not going to come home, is he? If he moves into his own place he won’t be able to afford to help with the rent on our house too. I’ll have to move out too and find a smaller place.”

Harry wants to hear that he’s being dramatic, but unfortunately what he’s just described is a likely scenario now, and he can tell that from Sophia’s clipped, nervy expression. In the end, she tells him not to worry about anything until it comes to it, if and when it does.

Home feels particularly empty and cold that night, and his short-lived positive thinking is in tatters in the gutter.

 

*

 

Regardless, Harry pulls himself out of bed on Monday morning and he battles on; working, ringing his mum, recording funny shows to keep him sane and keeping Elvis alive becoming the new norm for him; getting high when he can and just getting by when he can’t.

Midway through the month, worrying whether Louis’ money would come through in time to pay the rent keeps Harry awake most of the night, but it’s there by the morning in all its glory: four hundred and fifty pounds toward the rent on their home.

That’s the only form of contact he has with Louis for the whole of the month of May.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please let me know if you enjoyed it! Comments are massively appreciated! x


	3. To Forget I’m Missing You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: the use of alcohol as a coping mechanism for heartbreak

_ 'Spend my days locked in a haze, trying to forget you babe, I fall back down. I gotta stay high, all my life, to forget I’m missing you.' _

Habits (Stay High)

 

 

Harry’s good streak carries on until half way through the second week of June. The weather has been nice and that always brings people out of the woodwork and into their shop. People are more interested in planning things and spending money when it’s sunny, apparently. But regardless, Harry is busy and that’s an inherently good thing. In other words, he is much too busy to be thinking about anything else. Mostly.

On the second Friday of the month, the tenth, he accepts Alan and Marina’s invitation for a beer and a pub meal at the end of a particularly hectic but fruitful week for the business.

Heidi and Jessica join them there; their table of five is one of the more raucous ones, peals of laughter spilling out and Harry finds himself swept away with it all, in a good way. Definitely in a  good way.

“Beer, Harry?” Alan asks as he pushes his chair back noisily and tucks his fingers into his belt loops. Harry nods graciously and Jess tells him smugly that Marina has put the entire evening on expenses, so he can’t exactly decline.

Heidi’s main focus all evening are her ideas for a website re-brand and she talks Harry’s ear off about. The new navigation should be more user friendly and a piece that he’d put together that she’d come by to photograph a few weeks ago looks great on the company banner, even when shrunk down to the size of her phone screen; vivid greens and season appropriate purples, yellows and pinks on a crisp which background with a sleek looking navigation panel running across the top beneath the banner.

She talks about taking some headshots for the site but Harry hopes that he can wangle his way out of that particular commitment. Jess and her mum, who Harry has never noticed before could pass for twins, try and tamp down Heidi’s enthusiasm a bit, apologetic for her enthusiasm, but Harry loves it.

“I was thinking of a Twitter?” Alan says, looking quite pleased with himself. “Then the customers can twit us.”

Harry and Heidi share a look, neither of them having the heart to point out Alan’s misnomer. Harry himself thinks that Twitter might not be the best platform for a business like theirs, but Heidi adds it to the list in her spiral-bound notepad anyway.

Their food comes and Harry wolfs down his steak and ale pie and chips, peace descending upon the table while they eat, apart from when Harry flicks a garden pea into Heidi’s hair when she isn’t looking.

“Oi!” She yelps, flicking a tiny floret of steamed broccoli at him, the piece disintegrating as it flies through the air, bounces off his chest and onto his knee.

“Hey, you’re gonna get us in trouble!” He hisses, Marina watching them with a ‘Mum Look’. He holds up his hands to her. “Sorry!”

“Heidi, act your age, love.” Marina offers, quite unbothered. Heidi is twenty four, the younger of the two sisters; pale with long dark hair, the opposite of her fair-haired thirty year old sister Jess.

The girls order puddings, but Harry leans back in his chair, full of dinner, and declines the offer. He runs one hand through his hair; messy and shaggy now. It’s beginning to grow out of control again, the boundaries of the cut he had it styled into in April now long gone.

It’s barely nine thirty when they leave, the sky still not quite pitch black yet, but Harry is  _ knackered  _ . He waves Alan and Marina off and the girls go off in their own cars. He leans against his own motor, enjoying every last millimetre of his first cigarette since lunchtime. Falling into bed and sleeping until lunchtime tomorrow feels like a pretty sound choice.

He drives himself across town, back home, and climbs into bed with a whole packet of chocolate digestives and a tea, dragging all of the pillows (five) into the centre of the double bed and starfishing his arms and legs out. He falls asleep watching 8 Out of 10 Cats on E4 and when he stirs in the night it’s playing an infomercial for the Insanity workout plan.

He doesn’t know it, but the good spell will last just one more week.

 

*

 

Fast forward those seven shitty days and Harry’s jubilance of the previous week feels like a distant memory. He’d managed to get out early by offering to take Alan’s packages to the post office for him, allowing half an hour for something that will take ten. A tumultuous, ill-at-ease feeling had been tumbling about inside him all day; nothing had really happened and nothing was too out of the ordinary but he just felt like he could snap at any moment, like an elastic band pulled too wide.

By the time it starts to get dark, he’s been sat frozen in one spot for so long he hasn’t put any lights on. One spot being slumped on the kitchen floor with his back against the fridge. In his hands and all around him is all the post and junk mail that has come for Louis since he’s been gone.

Harry has smoked a blunt in the time he’s been home but it’s not making him feel good at all. He clutches the letters until it feels like his fingers are going to snap, crumpling and creasing the envelopes. He draws his knees up as close to his body as he can, making it purposely difficult for himself to breathe. The tears stream down his face and all the letters slip onto the floor around him as his vision starts to blotchy and he gives up trying to hurt himself. His legs slide out under him and he runs angry, disappointed hands through his hair and over his face, trying to stop himself crying but it won’t go.

“I need you,” He calls out for Louis, but of course he’s not there to hear him. “I need you here; why aren’t you here? I can’t be here without you!”

The empty air around him has no answers. With eyes so raw he can barely see, Harry crawls onto his knees, pats around up on the unit for his lighter and takes the roach from the ashtray. He falls back onto his side with the unlit spliff hanging from his lips. His arm aches where he’s laying on it and his shoulder throbs where he fell on it, but he doesn't get up.

The next morning, Saturday morning, he wakes up on the sofa under a blanket with no recollection of how he got there. He wakes up in a determined mood; determined not to back down. He’s got a plan. He’s convinced himself that he should and will take Louis’ mail round for him, to Perrie’s. Louis might’ve given him a strict set of rules to adhere to but something in the pile might be important. He repeatedly tells himself he’s justified in what he’s doing, that the piles of post addressed to Mr L Tomlinson that he has stuffed into his jacket pockets are reason enough to go hunting Louis down. It’s  _ not  _ just because he’s missed his smell and the way he breathes, or that he’s forgetting the specks of green in his eyes or the hitch in his voice when he’s tired. But it’s ridiculous to say that, because he  _ does  _ miss all those things. As much as he wants to hate Louis and move on, he can’t. He misses Louis so much it hurts and he doesn’t want it to hurt anymore.

The car doesn’t smell like Louis anymore, just Harry; smoky and pathetic and stale, but it’s not so difficult to get in and drive anymore. He follows the route to Perrie and Ryan’s house, not paying much mind to the radio that is blasting Rhythm is a Dancer at him. It fills the silence though.

He parks up on the dropped kerb opposite the row of houses; Perrie and Ryan’s the mid-terrace tan brick new build with the blue front door. He kills the engine and sits there for a  moment, suddenly feeling the size of what he is about to do. He is well aware this could be make or break.

He continues to sit, wondering what Louis is doing behind the bricks. Wondering if he’ll even want to see him, speak to him? It’s been weeks since they saw each other and there’d been no backlash after the birthday meal, despite it going against Louis’ previous requests.

Breathing heavily, Harry wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and lets himself out of the car. He clunks it closed softly and dashes across the street to the path, reaching out to knock down the door.

“Hey Blondie,” He says as Perrie opens the door, hair in a messy top knot and wearing a big baggy jumper and ripped jeans.

She smiles back sadly. Well, maybe not sadly, just… wistfully. “Hiya my love. Y’alright?”

“I uh, brought these,” He pulls the letters out of his pockets and waves them around stupidly. “Sorry, I mean, I thought this might be important. They’re Louis’.”

“Oh,” Perrie says, her eyes not steady. She’s acting strange. “Is it his mail?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, trying to look past her shoulder down the hallway. “Is he- can I? Y’know?”

“Babe,” Perrie says after a pause that feels like it lasts a lifetime. She unwraps her arms from across her body and folds them back over again, clutching at her sleeves. “He’s not here sweetie.”

“Oh, is he out?” A million awful thoughts flood Harry’s brain. “Just, oh it doesn’t matter then; I suppose I’ll just leave them with you?”

“No babe, I mean he’s not staying here anymore. He went home three weeks ago.”

“Oh,” Harry says abruptly. He suddenly feels foolish, like he could cry. Instead, he laughs. It’s a bit maniacal. He’d been nervously anticipating this for weeks, of course he had. It had been almost the only thing he thought about: where would Louis end up? But knowing that it’d happened almost a month ago and he had no idea sits  _ so  _ uncomfortably with him he bursts into tears anyway, self-restraint be damned.

“Oh c’mere, pet!” Perrie ushers him inside and into the living room promptly. Perrie’s home smells like fresh linen air freshener and there isn’t a trace of Louis here anymore and Ryan jumps up out of his chair with an awkward, horrified look on his face.

“Sorry mate, I really am, I-”

“Hush, enough of the apologising, Styles!” Perrie swats at him. “Come on, sit!”

She shoves him down to a sitting position on the sofa and kneels on the cushion next to him, wrapping her arms tight around him and swaying him gently from side to side. Ryan excuses himself to the kitchen and Harry peels himself off Perrie’s shoulder.

“God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to burst in here and ruin your day.”

“Babe, you’re not ruining anything.” Perrie reassures him. “I didn't know he wouldn’t tell you. I’m sorry, I am,  I asked him to, but…”

And that hurts. “It’s okay.” Harry manages. “It’s not your fault, Pez.”

Harry has a million questions but he can’t quite articulate himself; he stops just short of sitting mumbling  _ how, why, when, why, how, why, why, why  _ over and over. Ryan returns with two teas and then disappears again with a comforting rub of Perrie’ shoulder. Harry can’t find it in himself to apologise again.

“Just breathe through it,” Perrie tells him as his breathing hitches and falters. He pulls his sleeves down over his fists and scrubs furiously at his eyes before gulping down his too hot tea.

Perrie sits holding his hand like a child as he bombs through all the different scenarios in his head. Louis’ mum lives almost an hour away by car. Louis is either spending huge chunks of his time and money on buses to and from work every day or he’s quit his job. If he’s quit his job, he’ll stop being able to pay his half of the rent on their house. Harry can’t shake the feeling that this feels like Louis making a break for a new start. Like he’s completely left behind his old life now and everything in it, not just Harry but everything.

“Do you think I should go there? See him?”

Perrie doesn’t answer straight away, and Harry’s brain backtracks as the seconds go on and his question remains unanswered. Perrie tugs her bottom lip in between her teeth and twists her face into an uncertain quirk. “I don’t know.” She says eventually. “I don’t know what to say for the best, babe. I’m sorry. Can you text him? Try and talk?”

Harry shakes his head and slumps his shoulders. “I don’t have his number anymore.”

“Oh,” Perrie says with a surprised twitch. “Right. well...”

“I thought I could do this, y’know?” Harry says miserably, filling the omnipresent silence. “I thought I was okay. But… God, I just miss him. Like, it hurts. Here. I know what heartbreak feels like now, and that’s cliche as fuck and ridiculous but it’s true. It’s… it’s that hopeless, lonely, isolated feeling, like everyday is gonna be a battle and you can't wit for bed time just so you can sleep it off and just hope that you don’t dream about ‘em. All there is is pain.”

Harry leans forward on his elbows, digging them into his knees, and hides his face, feeling his breaths starting to come fast and restricted. her small hand reaches out and rests on his leg, the only thing keeping him grounded.

Harry breaks the silence eventually. “I wish I could take some of the pain away, I do babe.”

Harry smiles weakly. He wishes too. “Tuesday will be eight years since we met.”

When May turned to June, Harry had begun a mental countdown to the twenty first of the month. Somewhere along the line, between Ed’s gig in Southend and Harry meeting Louis’ family in the August of the same year, they’d become official without really making it official. It was a scorching August, as is usually but not always guaranteed in England, and Lottie’s eighteenth birthday. Louis introduced Harry to his mum, grandparents and sisters as ‘my boyfriend’ and neither of them could really pinpoint the moment where they’d changed from friends who shag to boyfriends who shag, so the night on the beach in Southend, the twenty first of June, became their anniversary - the only date they could both agree on.

Perrie smiles and makes a soft, nostalgic sigh. “I can’t believe it’s been that long!”

“He was only twenty one,” Harry continues. “He’s gonna be thirty in six months’ time.”

Perrie nods, smiling wickedly. “Old man.”

Harry nods with his own humourless smile. “Yep. And I won’t even get to celebrate with him.”

“You never know.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Pez, either we’ll get back together or we’ll hate each other’s guts and not be able to spend one second in the same room together. I can tell you which one is more likely.”

“Never underestimate the power of friendship.” Perrie says, and Harry rolls his eyes. She playfully slaps his arm. “Shut up, I know I sound like a hippie but you know what ‘am saying is true. You two were-  _ are  _ \- best mates. You never know what’s round the corner.”

 

*

 

The landline rings at five to eight on Monday evening, and Harry jumps out of his skin because the landline  _ never  _ rings. They only got it so they could have superfast broadband.

He leaps off the sofa and bounds across the room, heart hammering in his chest. The forgotten old relic sits on the sideboard in its cradle, screeching at him. It doesn’t have caller display, so he’s not gaining anything by watching it but he continues to do so. The automated message cuts in a moment later but the caller doesn’t speak. Harry’s blood runs cold as he continues to stare at the phone.

Thirteen seconds later (Harry was counting) it rings again. Harry continues to stare, hand on the receiver ready to pick it up. The ringer continues to pierce the air and lifting the phone up and answering the call is almost like an out of body experience.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause, a bit of quiet shuffling, and then a small voice, instantly recognisable. “Hi.”

Harry’s vision goes black and splodgy. “Lou?”

“Yeah, ’s me.” Louis says. He sounds so far away and so unlike himself. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know how else to contact you.”

Harry’s hand trembles and his mind can’t make sense of anything that is going on right now. He breathes heavily down the line, Louis completely silent now. “You’re at your mums.” Harry says; the only thing he can manage to get out.

“Yeah,” Louis confirms. “I couldn’t stay at Perrie’s much longer. It wasn’t fair on ‘em.”

“How is it?” He asks. “Living back at home?”

Harry isn’t sure he wants to know _ or  _ why he even asked. What if Louis says he likes it? He’s planning on staying? Finding his own place close to his mum so he can go round for Sunday roasts every weekend and see more of his youngest sisters?

“It’s so quiet,” Is what Louis actually says, which isn’t really an answer, more of a fact. “It’s weird, it being just me and mum, now all the girls are gone. I’m used to this place being so crowded and loud.”

With all Louis’ sisters having flown the nest now, Harry supposes it must be weird and totally unlike anything Louis is used to. Well, now he knows how Harry feels. Harry does soften when he thinks of his sisters-in-law. Lottie and her boyfriend have their home and their daughter Katie, Fizzy is doing really well for herself in London and both the twins are away at uni. If  _ he  _ feels this proud, God knows how Jay must feel.

“Y’still there?” Louis asks.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m here.”

“How are you? How’s work?”

Harry snorts to himself. “Same old, same old. It’s quiet here too.”

“That’s good,” Louis says softly. “I’m glad it’s… all right.”

“Did you, uh… are we really doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“You calling me up making small talk like nothing’s happened.”

Harry also wants to add on about what day it is tomorrow, but part of him is afraid Louis doesn't realise and his call coming today is just a coincidence, so he stops himself.

“I uh, well I just wanted to…” He doesn’t finish that sentence. “Perrie told me that you were at hers the other day. I thought I’d better check everything was okay.”

Harry scoffs. It’s been two days since he was at Perrie’s; if it had taken Louis that long to ‘be concerned’ he obviously wasn’t  _ that  _ bothered. “Everything’s fine. Oh, and sorry I broke your number one rule.”

“Haz, what I said before, about… about not contacting me and not talking to Perrie, I was a twat to say those things and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Louis’ words ‘don’t fucking call me’ echo in his ears as clearly as they did they first time he’d heard them.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now does it?”

“It does. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Harry tries to be firm. “It doesn’t matter. It’s been said.”

“Harry, please!” Louis tries again, dripping with earnest. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever, it’s fine.” Harry lies. It’s not fine. “You can clear your conscience now, Louis.”

Louis sighs. “I know I deserve all this-“ Harry makes a noise of agreement. “But I just want you to accept my apology.”

“I’m sure you do.” Louis is silent again and Harry feels the ache in his muscles from how tired this makes him feel, dragging all of this around with him. “Just… just don’t worry, okay? I accept your apology.”

“Do you?” Louis asks sceptically.

_ No.  _ “Yes.” Harry replies sharply.

“Thank you,” Louis says after a pause, and Harry just hums. “I uh, I wanted to ask something?”

“Oh?” Harry says, trying to feign disinterest and failing miserably. “What?”

“D’ya reckon I could, I… y’know, just in case something goes wrong.”

“Could you what?” Harry asks coolly, his aloofness nothing more than a defence mechanism now, really.

“If you need to ring me or I need to get in touch with you, it’d be easier if I, y’know… had your number.”

Harry wants to laugh. He also wants to tell his heart to stop beating so fast. He’s not sure which of those things he should do first. His first thought is to say no. He’s got to move on and having Louis’ number will not help him do that. He’d been surviving so far, evidently, because he’s still here two months on. He’s not had the greatest time but he’s survived and  _ will  _ continue to do so without Louis. But on the other hand, it’s Louis.  _ His  _ Louis.

He ends up agreeing, to precisely no-one’s surprise. He carefully reads the number out to Louis, staring at the device in his hand as the noise of Louis shuffling about on loudspeaker fills the room. As if he’s here.

“Thank you,” Louis says, and Harry puts him back to normal volume. Harry tells him it’s okay, and Louis tells him Jay has been asking after him, hoping he’s okay. He asks him to reassure her that he’s thinking of her too and that he’s okay, and he also brings Louis up to date on everything happening locally; work, Elvis, Sharon and her baby. Louis is as surprised as he was about that last one, and he muses that he feels guilty for not noticing earlier. Harry agrees, and they even share a small joke that goes over softly.

“Haz, we uh- we’ve just had an  _ actual  _ conversation.” Louis remarks, sounding nervous to acknowledge it, like he’ll jinx them. Harry looks over at the clock on the wall, and it’s true. They’ve been on the phone almost an hour now. Then Harry tries to move his arm and the ache from where he’s had it bent with the phone to his ear all this time shoots through him.

“God, times flies, hey?”

“It does,” Louis agrees. “I mean, I’ll let you go now. I’ll text you? So you have my number too. Y’know… just in case.”

“All right,” Harry agrees. “Say hi to your mum for me.”

“I will,” Louis promises. “Take care, okay?”

“Hmmm,” Harry agrees noncommittally. “You too.”

“Bye, Haz.”

“Night.”

 

*

 

Louis’ text never comes. Harry doesn’t want to admit that he’s been watching, waiting with anxious excitement, but a watched pot never boils and the same can be said for phones: a watched phone never vibrates.

Eventually he gives up and crawls from the sofa to bed, Elvis following and tucking himself into the space in the bed next to Harry. It takes hours to fall asleep; Harry’s not sure what time it is when he finally gives in to sleep, but when he wakes up in the morning there’s a message from an unsaved contact received at 03:41 on Tuesday 21st June 2016.

**Unknown Number** **_:_** _Happy 8 years._

 

*

 

Louis’ message torments Harry all day - really bloody considerate of Louis to do this to him, yeah. How is he supposed to go about his day with that message hanging over him? He knew this would happen if he accepted Louis’ number; he has no-one to blame but himself but he can’t actually bring himself to feel too bad about his choice.

Louis remembered the significance, and acknowledged it despite their separation. That means something, right? Harry ties himself in knots going over and over it on the way to work; sailing through green lights and pulling up behind queuing traffic with nothing but Louis on his mind. He’d remembered their anniversary. Well, the closest thing they have to an anniversary. He’d texted him at twenty to four in the morning, the actual day, instead of texting him before midnight, when it still would’ve been the twentieth. That means something, it  _ must. _

Heidi is around when Harry arrives at work, tapping away on her Mac. She looks up as Harry shoulders his way through the door, hoping the fact he’s six minutes late will go unnoticed.

“Hey gorgeous,” Heidi greets him, eyes not averting from the screen. Harry grunts in response as he traipses past her and dumps his backpack on a hook behind the door in the kitchenette. “You sound about as good as I feel.”

Harry focusses on the young woman and realises she has a cold. Rotten luck.

“Sorry, you okay? Got a cold?”

She looks up, a bit pink around the nose and eyelashes mascara-free. She picks up her tea and cradles it, blowing on the surface to cool it down. “Yes. I’m feeling very sorry for myself today.”

“That makes two of us,” Harry mumbles, leaning on the counter and arching his back up. His spine burns and the uncomfortable sensation travels down his back to pool just above his bum.

“What’s got you so down?” Heidi asks, peering in at him over the rim of her mug.

Harry debates for a moment whether to bother getting into everything with Heidi, but his mouth is open and speaking before his mind has had a chance to make a decision. “Louis texted me.”

“Oh?” Heidi says, her eyebrows rising. “Is that a bad thing then?”

Harry shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything when it comes to him anymore. But today is our anniversary, sort of.”

“Sort of?” She raises her eyebrows. “Why only ‘sort of’?”

“It’s eight years since we met. He never actually asked me out and I didn't ask him, it just happened. So we don’t have a proper anniversary. We use… we  _ used  _ to use this date as our anniversary.”

“Are you two on good terms now?”

Harry shakes his head. “We’re not really on any terms. It changes quickly, one minute he’s telling me not to contact him and he ignores me for a month, then he calls me at home out of the blue wanting to chat and get my number. He’s moved back in with his mum - didn’t tell me. I haven’t seen him since the end of April. He confuses me, why say one thing then wind up doing the exact opposite?”

“Human nature,” Heidi tells him, and Harry admits only to himself that maybe that last bit was a bit whingey. “Did things end on a fight?”

Harry nods.

“Okay. But he remembered your anniversary. That might mean… I dunno.”

Heidi’s input is actually about as useful as Harry’s is at this point. When he asks her if she thinks Louis’ message is good or bad, she can’t give him a straight answer, and when he asks how he should reply, she says she isn’t sure if he should or not. He remembers Perrie not being able to give him an answer either, and it strikes something inside of him that feels a lot like embarrassment. He doesn’t realise yet that it’s  _ his  _ decision to make, not anyone else’s.

The first customer of the day arrives shortly after, effectively ending their conversation, so Harry approaches the customer and pushes the issue to the back of his grey matter. Heidi goes off home at about eleven, and Harry finishes work at five still none the wiser about how, and indeed if, to proceed with Louis.

 

*

 

Weed makes Harry even less aware of what to do and he sits, off his face, later on that evening trying not to stare at the clock and thinking about what was happening this time eight years ago.

At seven o'clock he hadn’t met Louis yet; he would’ve been sitting with Zayn and possibly Liam, absolutely bricking it and wishing he was back at home with his mum and something good on the telly.

Harry is positively floating by the time eight o'clock comes. He can’t feel  _ a thing  _ . They’d have met by now, eight years ago. Tucked into a crowded campervan, breaking about a thousand road safety laws and Harry feeling completely enraptured and drawn in by Louis. In about another five hours, they’d have had their first kiss.

The joint goes cold as Harry daydreams. He leans forward to retrieve his lighter, his head spinning and the world shifting as he moves. He flicks the Clipper and stares at the dancing flame until the air snatches it away. He lights up again and takes a deep, deep inhale, letting the aroma burn his nose and throat and lungs once again.

He’s basically completely unaware of anything around him; his head feels like it’s full of cotton wool and the scene playing out in his head is so vivid and so real he can feel the spray of the sea on his skin and the taste of the beer on his tongue. He hears Louis’ voice clear as a bell as if he is right there next to him, their memories playing out on a projector against the back wall.

_ “You’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. Did you know that?” _

_ They’re so drunk, the weight of too many beers in their bodies, shots and sticky fruity spirits bundled on top of that making their mouths taste like shit. He can smell Louis, next to him, warmth radiating through the chill coming off the sea. _

_ “You’re just drunk,” Harry argues. Louis agrees, but he tells him to shut up and take the compliment anyway. _

Harry’s skin tingles under his clothes; every inch that Louis has ever touched. His chest feels tight and he lets out an audible shriek as he gasps for air.

“I miss you,” He tells the thick air around him. “I miss you here.” He looks to his left. “I miss you there.” He turns to his right.

Emptiness all around, just as he was expecting.

 

*

 

Harry doesn’t hear from Louis again for the rest of the week and he doesn’t reply to his message. Day by day it gets easier: the first day, Wednesday, was a disaster but by the weekend, Harry has got himself back on track. Knowing that he isn’t going to bump into Louis actually makes getting up and getting out of the house easier, a perk that Harry had not anticipated.

Saturday is a nice day, and Harry makes a decision not to waste the day. He makes it out before eleven and considers that pretty good going. He takes his Costa panini and mango cooler to the park and situates himself under a tree directly in the line of the sun that’s beating down. He folds his hoodie to sit on and leans back against the wizened old tree trunk, shuffling to get comfortable against the jagged bark.

He divides his time between demolishing his food, watching some teenagers kick a ball about with a rubbish bin and a mound of hoodies acting as the goal, smoking cigarettes and picking daisies out of the grass and threading their stalks together to make daisy chains. He wraps one around his wrist and wears it until it breaks.

The sun moves around in the sky as time passes, and for ten minutes or so he’s submerged in cool shade. He’s just about to light up, cigarette dangling from his dry lips, when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket against his thigh. He takes it out cautiously and stares at it until his eyes adjust to the bright light.

**Lou:** _Are you alright?_

Harry stares, momentarily struck. He can see his frowning reflection in the glass; heavy brows and skin pink from the warmth. He tears his eyes away, looks out at his view again. The lads playing football are gone and there is a small child of about eighteen months dashing about on the grass with rigid legs, arms out straight and a maniacal cackle. The parent totters along behind, flinching and going to reach out and grab the child every time they stumble on their feet.

He looks back at his phone, reading ‘Louis’ at the top of the screen several times before tapping to add a picture, choosing one he’d taken of his daisy chain and sending it to Louis. He’d stuck a black and white filter on the image and a vignette.

**Lou:** _ What are you doing? _

**‘** _ Got up early to come to the park because it might stop me thinking about you and I didn’t want to miss out on another day because I’m missing you, but now I’m thinking of you anyway because you’re everywhere I go, even when you’re an hour away.’ _

He back spaces the entire message and instead flips to the camera and snaps a portrait shot of what’s before him: the trees and blurry figures in the distance, the blue of the sky and the green of the grass that dances in the soft breeze, his legs outstretched in the bottom right of the frame, crossed at the ankles and his empty cooler resting on his thigh.

He leaves it in colour, filters it with a vignette and sends it to Louis as his reply.

**Lou:** _It’s overcast here._

_ ‘You’re only an hour away’ _

**Lou:** _I know, crazy._

_ ‘Are you okay?’ _

**Lou:** _Yeah._

 **Lou:** _You?_

_ ‘Yeah. It’s peaceful here.’ _

**Lou:** _Good x_

Harry tries to picture Louis at his mum’s house; probably being utilised by his mum to get all the jobs done that otherwise wouldn’t get done. Their conversation keeps going and before Harry knows it, it’s three in the afternoon. The sun is behind him and he hadn’t noticed the world changing around him because his world had shrunken down to the size of his iPhone 6 screen.

**Lou:** _I’m going with mum to pick up Lotts and Katie, I’ll speak to you later on. Have a good rest of your day x_

_ ‘You too. Please give all the girls a kiss from me x’ _

**Lou:** _I will x_

 

*

 

Harry goes home via his work, catching Marina and the Saturday girl Jemima ten minutes before closing.

“Hello love, what’re you doing here, it’s Saturday!” Marina smiles as she sits behind the counter idly sorting through invoices.

“Hiya, just wanted to make two delivery notes, if that’s okay?”

“Of course love, what’s the occasion? Last minute birthdays you’ve forgotten?”

“No!” Harry insists with a chuckle. “Just wanted someone to know I’m thinking about them.”

“Say no more!” Marina says with a kind smile. She looks over at Jemima. “Jemima, you fancy giving Harry here a hand? I’ll pay you to stay ‘til five?”

Jemima looks a little flustered and nervous but Harry laughs and so does Marina and so Jemima nods happily and follows Harry through to the back.

“So I’m Harry, as you’ve heard.” He introduces himself over his shoulder as they cut down the narrow corridor. “I work here in the week.”

“Hi, I’m Jemima. You can call me Jem if you like. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Harry smiles. “My sister is called Gem, with a G. Short for Gemma.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Jemima smiles.

“It’s all right; she’s a pain in the arse though. Or she was, when we were kids. So anyway, I wanna send two orders off with Monday morning’s courier, fancy helping me pick which flowers?”

Jemima nods eagerly and Harry has to smile at her enthusiasm. He never had this much enthusiasm for his weekend job at HMV when he was a teenager.

“Who are they for?” Jemima asks politely.

“For my mother in law. She doesn't live locally and I don’t see her much so I wanted to let her know I’m thinking of her. The other is for my own mum. Otherwise she’ll moan, y’know?”

Jemima giggles again and Harry smiles; he likes this kid. He does briefly wonder if Jemima knows Harry’s predicament but he can’t imagine how she could. They leaf through the big laminated spiral-bound catalogues, pulling example cards out of their plastic slips and arranging the flowers into complementary – and some not so complementary – preparations.

“I’ve always loved colour clash myself. It might be a bit unorthodox, a bit unusual, but I think that’s the beauty of florals. You’re free to go a bit wild and see what works and what doesn't.” Harry tells her as he watches her agonise over putting yellow with purple.

“I like bright colours too. Does it matter if they don’t match?” Jemima asks, lifting up the card she’d just placed down, chewing on the inside of her lip.

“Well, I’d love to say no but if we’re being serious, I think it always depends on the occasion. There is a time and a place for colour clash. A wedding might not be it, but then again maybe it is? It all depends on the occasion and the atmosphere. Often times with this place it’s what the client wants the client gets and you don’t get to ‘experiment’ much but I personally  _ love  _ mix and match. A bit of vibrancy and bit of quirkiness never hurt no one.” He’s well aware of how he’s rambling, how animated he has become and how much he’s waving his hands around. Jemima is watching him in fascination. “Sorry, I truly out-gayed myself there, didn’t I!”

Jemima balks a little, but not in a repulsed way, just in a surprised way. Harry can’t quite put his finger on it. If he had to guess, he’d say Jemima is about sixteen. He remembers being sixteen and in the closet and trying to force himself to find boobs attractive. He wonders for a moment about the sixteen years olds of today; is it easier or harder for them to come out?

“These two look lovely together.” Jemima says, loosening Harry from his contemplation and pointing out the narcissi and ranunculus. “Should we include them in your bouquet?”

“Good idea,” Harry beams, dragging the card for the ranunculus out of its slip and arranging it along with the others. “Nice one, I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

Marina sticks her head around the door some time later, letting them know the front of the shop is all closed up and she’ll be upstairs finishing up if they need her. They both nod and say okay.

Jemima seems to relax as they carry on, the bouquet for Jay finished and ready to be ordered. He’s envisioning deep rich purples and fuchsia pinks for the bunch for his mum. They flick to the purples section and pour over the options; Harry cracking a few jokes as they go. He asks her if she really likes floristry or if it’s just a Saturday job.

When she tells him that at first it was just a job but then she actually had grown to quite like it, he laughs and tells her that the exact same thing happened with him. She tells him her dreams are to become a wedding planner and Harry thinks back to the three days when that’d been his dream too. He decides not to scare her off with the reality of just how much hard work and concentration that job actually entails, instead telling her about the wedding fayres he’s been to with the company and all the different things you get to see. He encourages her to ask Alan and Marina if she could one day go along to a fayre to see what it’s like and get a feel for the profession in a broader sense, though he’s not sure if she actually will or not. He makes a mental note to drop it into conversation with Marina soon. Alan wouldn’t recognise Harry’s subtly if he picked it up and handed it to him personally, so Marina it is.

By half past five they’ve got a beautiful bouquet of white astrantia, narcissi, ranunculus and roses, cream tulips, eucalyptus and pittosporum on order for Jay, and a collection of harmonising cerise carnations and germini, pinks, spray chrysanthemums and purple lisianthus and statice for his own mum.

“Sorry for keeping you late,” Harry says to Jemima as they’re heading out. “I know Marina said she’d pay you til five but make sure you get that half an hour added on too!”

“Are you telling me how to do my job, Styles?” Marina hollers from upstairs, and the three of them laugh.

“Are you okay getting home?” Harry asks, then he hears his own words and claps a hand to his mouth. “God, that sounded creepy!”

Jemima laughs softly, her eyes wandering as she points up the street to a young man – a hipster, Louis would say - leaning against a battered black Renault Clio. “Yeah, here is my lift.”

“Oh good. Who’s that? Brother? Boyfriend…”

“Uh, boyfriend, yeah.” Jemima says, re-adjusting her tie dye Jansport backpack on her shoulder and giving the boy a small wave. “So, thanks for letting me help, it was really interesting. I hope they both like them.”

“Thanks, you were a massive help. Take care, okay?”

“Do you want me to ask Reece if he will give you a lift too? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh no, it’s okay love!” He smiles. “Thanks though. See you ‘round.”

“Bye, Harry!”

He watches, trying not to seem too much like a weirdo old man, as Jemima approaches the boy – Reece – with a spring in her step. They smile in greeting, he opens the car door for her and she smiles as Harry wanders past. He gives a small saluting wave and nods to Reece.

Harry wanders back towards home slowly, casually, enjoying the last bit of sun and warmth. Everyone around him seems happier with the nice weather, himself included. For the past hour or so he’s been happy. It’s a truly remarkable thing.

Pizza arrives at his front door two hours later when he’s already half way down a bottle of red wine.

 

*

 

Harry sees the receipts in the logbook on Monday morning for his two bouquets. Even with staff discount they’re a pretty penny, but he hopes they’ll be worth it.

After the unexpectedly calming effects of a weekend well spent, Harry feels like he can do anything on Monday morning. He can’t wait to see the look on their faces when they receive their flowers. Well, he can’t wait to imagine what the looks on their faces might be when they receive their flowers. He’ll probably get a Skype call from his mum. But Jay, he’s not so sure. He hopes that she’ll like them anyway, will appreciate the gesture.

For a horrible moment he imagines Louis not allowing the delivery. Turning the courier away and just telling his mum there had been a mistake; that the driver had come to the wrong door. But he shakes it away. Louis’ behaviour in the past few days has shown no indication that he would  do something like that.

Harry’s doing precisely nothing at half six on Monday evening when his phone starts to ring. He peers at the screen, his heart leaping as an automatic reaction, but a smile spreads across his face when he sees the unexpected caller’s name on the display.

“Hey Nialler!”

“Hey!” Niall breathes heavily down the phone, the squawking sound of three little Horan’s in the background suddenly cutting off with the definitive clunk of a door. “Sorry. Hi, how’re you?”

“I’m good… you sound run off your feet! Is it hectic there?”

Harry feels pangs of jealousy. He’d wanted an army of little Tomlinson’s running around his feet by this stage. When Niall and Ciara had begun firing out kids at a rate of knots, and again when Gemma had announced her pregnancy with Lottie hot on her heels, people had asked them if they’d ever thought about exploring their own options, and the answer had always been bright eyed optimism for the future.

“Christ, hectic  _ isn’t  _ the word, mate!” Niall exhales then shouts to the children on his end, “Da’s on the toilet, give me five minutes of peace!”

Harry chuckles as the muffled whining of three little girls under the age of five.

“Sorry, my troublesome trio of tearaways can’t bear to miss out on  _ anything  _ !” Niall grumbles warmly into the phone.

“Impressive alliteration, Nialler!”

“Thank you, sir,” Niall chuckles. “Right so, I’m ringing for a reason. I’m not gonna get into the mess that is you an’ Tommo ‘cause I don’t have time right now, but rest assured it’s not gone unnoticed.”

Harry nods, because he would expect nothing less from the caring Irishman. “Okay.”

“I’m coming over to England for a few days, had a death in the family.”

“What?!” Harry squeaks, completely taken aback. His heart starts beating rapidly in his chest. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Wha-”

“No, it’s nobody we’re close to. I mean,  _ were  _ close to - an uncle on the old man’s side, or something.”

“Oh. Shit, I’m sorry, mate.” Harry says, though he starts to feel a bit giddy inside. Yes, Harry feels sad for the unfortunate uncle that has died, but this means he’s going to get to see his old friend, and that makes him happy.

Niall doesn’t seem too bothered either, so Harry decides not to feel too bad. “It’s all right, y’know? I didn’t really know the man. I’ll be coming over for a few days for the funeral an’ that though, so I’ll be squeezing in a quick visit. Bash yous two’s heads together while ‘m at it!”

“When is the funeral?” Harry asks, ignoring the reference to Louis once again.

“Sixth of July – the Wednesday after next.”

Everything seems to slot into place at once. “Oh my God, that’s the week I’ve booked off work!” Harry cries with a little yelp.

“Wahey!” Niall exclaims, and Harry has to remind himself they’re talking about funeral arrangements. “We’ll all be able to meet up then! Get Payno and Soph involved, Perrie and whatshisface.”

“Ryan.”

“Yeah, him.” Niall agrees. “Pub I think, yeah? Shall I set up a group chat? Yeah I think I will!”

Harry has to chuckle at Niall answering his own questions.

“Great, well I can’t wait to see you! I mean, I wish your visit was under better circumstances, but…“

Niall just laughs down the phone. “Right, I’ve got two blondies and a baby gingernut vying for my attention, I gotta go. I’ll let you know when I land next week, all right?”

“Yeah, can’t wait to see you.”

“You too, bud.”

Harry can hear excited chatter and buzz around Niall on his end before the phone call ends. Harry sits there in his own comparative silence; the noisiest thing here is the gentle  _ thud-thud-thud  _ of Elvis’ paw prints.

Harry agonises over whether to pre-warn Louis about what he’s about to be invited to. He picks up and puts down and picks up his phone, opens Louis’ thread and stares at the last things they’d said to each other. He taps his index finger into the text box and stares at the blinking cursor. There is some aggravation there over the fact that he even has to do this. Why couldn’t things just be the way they used to be?

They’d be excited about Niall coming back together. They’d be looking forward to a boozy night out,  _ together  _ . But instead, Harry is sitting alone having to forewarn his ex-boyfriend that they are about to be invited out together and will have to make do and get along for the night for the sake of their mutual friend.

_ ‘Niall is coming back in July for a week, he’s about to add us all into a group chat to try and arrange a night out. I understand if you don’t want me to go. If you want you can go for the night out and I’ll see Niall one day before he goes back. Or anything works for me really just let me know.’ _

Harry’s message looks cold and clinical; like he could catch pneumonia just by reading it. He stares at the speech bubble with his words inside, wondering how things got to here. Even when they were in the throes of their worst patches, each message would finish up with a couple of x’s. He bites the skin around his thumb and stares at the carpet, thinking about a visitation schedule for their shared friends. Picturing it makes Harry feel sick. Niall’s group chat pings up as a brief distraction.

**Niall:** _ Ello peeps, im back in the uk from 5-9th july, who’s up for catch up drinks?? Friday nite starting at 8 at the warrington?? xxxx _

**Perrie:** _Eeeeeee yaaas I can’t wait! I’m up for that! xx_

**Niall:** _ Eeeee yaaaaas ;) _

**Sophia:** _do I need to remind you both you’re married??_

 **Sophia:** _Not to each other tho!_

 **Niall:** _Shame…_

 **Ryan:** _Oi x_

 **Perrie:** _Im running away to ireland Ry x_

 **Ryan:** _No ur not ur sitting across from me babe_

 **Zayn:** _U lot are mental._

 **Niall:** _Zayn, u in bud? x_

**Zayn:** Yeah count me in x

Zayn has left the group chat

**Niall:** _Miserable git_

 **Liam:** _We wouldn’t miss it, see u then buddy x_

Liam has left the group chat

Sophia has left the group chat

Ryan has left the group chat

**Niall:** _Just you and me now ;)_

Perrie has left the group chat

Louis has left the group chat

Harry has left the group chat

 

 

Harry taps out of Niall’s group chat and goes back to his messages. Louis hasn’t replied to him and he didn’t say a word in the group chat either. Harry supposes it’s hardly surprising. He feels foolish for expecting Louis to respond to him, and at the same time a bit angry and humiliated for offering to miss – no, to go  _ out of his way  _ – to make sure Louis could have a night out with Niall and his friends without Harry there. He’s done all that and Louis can’t even respond. His brain calculates a million different reasons why Louis isn’t replying, from the sublime to the ridiculous.

He throws his phone down on the coffee table defiantly, unconsciously holding his breath. He’s just about to reach for his Tupperware, which doesn’t even get put back in the drawer anymore, when his phone vibrates on the coffee table, lighting up the default lock screen that Harry hadn’t yet changed with a banner notification across the top.

His palms itch and his blood is cold in his veins as he swipes the screen open. It’s a text.

**Lou:** _I’m not letting you miss out because of me. We can both be there and make it work, we’re not kids. I’ve got a lot I wanna say but im not doing it by text._

 

*

 

By the next morning, Harry also has a WhatsApp message from Jay.

_ ‘Lovely Harry, thank you sweetheart for the beautiful flowers. They’re pride of place on my dining room table, will ask Lou to help me send a piccy later. I hope to see you soon, take care of yourself. I love you very much okay, and always will. Jay xxx’ _

He’d been delirious and sleep-addled when he’d first read it, and a lump in his throat formed quickly after he’d read and re-read it a few times. It reminds him, though, that he hasn’t replied to Louis’ message. He’s not even sure if he will.

Throughout the course of the previous evening Harry had written out several responses and ummed and ahhed over all of them before deciding to just forget it. This morning he leaves the message un-replied to still; he wants to tell Louis a million things but overthinking has driven him into a corner where he can’t think straight and thus rendered him unable to form coherent thoughts.

But Harry  _ did  _ text the only person he knew that was neutral enough to give him a decent response: Zayn.

**Zayn:** _Nice one on the flowers, keep the mother in law sweet  ;) no but seriously, don’t worry about it. You’ve got as much right to be there as he does. Don’t let it blow up its just one night n we’re doin it for Nialler. Keep your differences aside for one night. Don’t do anything stupid and don’t get took for a mug either. Things will work out xx_

Harry reads it a few times, slipping his phone back into his pocket and then coming back to it later on in the day too. It’s nice to know someone is on his team, with or without Louis. The afternoon is quiet; thank God for 4G. Harry spends the last half an hour or so in the back, peering out into the front to check for customers every once in a while.

In what Alan calls the staff room, or as Harry calls it,  _ ‘out the back  _ ’, there is a notice board above the sink, supposedly used to pin the safety notices and messages to. Harry’d been spending the last twenty minutes writing ‘JEMIMA!!’ in big pink highlighter letters. He traces a thick line of black Biro around each letter to make them stand out, and scribbles underneath ‘the flowers were a success, thanks for your help’. He sticks it precariously to the board with blu-tack and hopes she sees it.

He’d text Zayn again mid-afternoon, asking whether he should reply to Louis or not, and he’s still waiting for Zayn’s reply as he finishes work. It comes as Harry is walking home, ambling through the streets and distractedly staring at everything going on around him. The population increases during the summer, he’s sure of it.

He slows down even more as he has to coordinate texting and walking, and they text back and forth for a while. Zayn’s replies are succinct with long gaps in between, in which time Harry gets home, rolls a smoke and scoops Elvis up into a cuddle on the sofa.

He is tickling Elvis under the chin and laughing at him retracting his neck right into his body when his phone vibrates on the cushion next to him. He ignores it, but it keeps going. Looking away from Elvis and across, he sees it’s a call.

“Zayn.”

“Harry, your constant texting is annoying me, it’s like we’re dating.”

Harry snorts. “Sorry, honey.”

“Look, do you want my advice or not?”

“Not.”

“Fuck off then!”

“N-no, I’m joking!” Harry appeals. “Please, advise me good sir.”

“Are you wasted?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“I can tell.”

“Zayn!”

“Okay!” Zayn laughs. “My advice to you would be to invite me round and share some of that herbal goodness around!”

Harry laughs out loud; squawking and throaty. “Shut up, that’s a great idea! I’m fed up of sittin’ ‘ere on me own.”

“You sounded like ‘im then!” Zayn comments, and Harry laughs softly, distantly.

“Sorry, habit, y’know?” Harry laughs again, inexplicably. High.

“All right mate, give’us half an hour, all right?”

 

*

 

Harry hadn’t smoked with Zayn in years, and he remembers why once he’s four tokes down the spliff Zayn’d rolled with his own stuff and the room’s already spinning.

“Bloody hell mate, where do you get this stuff?” Harry splutters. Zayn just laughs at him, swats his hand and then holds out two fingers for the joint back. Harry dutifully slides the roach between Zayn’s two fingers and sits back.

The higher he gets, the less he has to think and the easier things become. He doesn’t have to deal with Louis and how he likes to slide from one end of the spectrum to the other; ‘don’t see me or my friends ever again’ (paraphrasing, of course) to ‘we’re adults we can be in the same room together’. He doesn’t have to deal with that if he is stoned, and so, stoned is what they get.

“Y’alright mate?” Zayn asks suddenly, after a brief period of silence. “Like, really all right.”

Harry considers his answer, running his palms down his jeans. Does he lie? Will Zayn see through his transparency if he does? “No,” He finally admits, voice small. “How am I ‘sposed to be okay?”

Zayn exhales deeply from his mouth. “I dunno, mate. I’m hardly one to talk about relationships, am I. Not sure why you called on me, really?”

“Don’t be silly, you’re Super Boyfriend, aren’t ya?”

Zayn chuckles. “Dunno, depends what day y’ask her on!”

They both sit in contemplative silence once the laughter dissipates. Harry’s eyes feel heavy when he blinks and he tries to stop but can’t stop gripping the arm of the sofa to keep himself steady, though he’s sat down and completely stationary.

“You nervous ‘bout seeing ‘im again?” Zayn asks, cutting off vowels and consonants left right and centre with his lazy drawl, amplified by the amount of puff in his system. “Tommo, I mean.”

Harry blinks. As if Zayn could mean  _ anyone  _ other than Louis. “Yeah, ‘course. I don’t know how to… like, be. Like, you’re my mate-”

“Cheers, pal.”

“Hmm,” Harry nods. “So you’re my mate an’ I know how to be around you. But now, am I supposed to be his mate and act like I do with you? Or do I act like he’s my ex and make things as awkward as I can at every turn? I think I’m supposed to try and be his friend but… but I don’t know how to do that, y’know?”

“It’s awkward,” Zayn agrees. “Like, any other ex you’d just avoid for the rest of your life, right? But what happens when you can’t do that?”

“I dunno, I thought you were givin’ _ me  _ advice?” Harry says, and Zayn just nods blankly. “Guess I’ll just have to suck it up and get on with it. Only got, what, a week and a bit?”

“Yep,” Zayn agrees, though Harry’s sure that Zayn would agree with anything Harry said right about now. “You’ll work it out. Seven years is enough time to be with someone to know you wanna be with ‘em forever.”

“Eight years.”

“Eh?”

“It’s eight years.”

“Oh, well. 365 more reasons to know Lou’s your like, soul mate or whatever bullshit you head-in-the-clouds types like to spew.”

Harry would take offence at being called a ‘head-in-the-clouds’ type, but at that moment it seems pretty apt.

Harry wakes a few hours later with his head in Zayn’s lap and in a pool of dribble with a crick in his neck. He’s coming down hard now and feeling a muddle of embarrassment and tiredness and irritability. He remembers Zayn offering him a hug, he remembers crashing down and not feeling so high in the clouds anymore. He’d curled tight into Zayn’s side and Zayn had held him tight and secure; smoky and weathered until it felt a little easier to breathe.

 

*

 

Niall begins sending him a text each morning from the first of July, each one a random emoji. There is no particular pattern to the emojis he picks and Harry can’t figure out if there is some hidden deeper meaning to them, but he likes it all the same.

It’s a quiet week, not helped by the fact he’s off work. He’d booked this week off months ago, last year in fact. He’d considered cancelling it but not having to get up at the crack of dawn on Monday morning helps to make his decision for him. He decides to leave Louis’ message as it is; no good can come from him spilling his guts or making an arse of himself. He feels better after a good cry with his mum on the phone one night, and he drives himself to Asda another day to do the food shopping. His trolley is halved, his bill is halved and he feels half of himself missing as he reaches instinctively for the Honey Cheerios before remembering that the person who likes Honey Cheerios doesn’t live with him anymore.

 

*

 

On Thursday, aka Niall Day, aka The Big Day, aka the end of Niall’s emoji countdown, Harry receives an entire row, including the face wearing a cowboy hat, the champagne bottle, a pair of trousers, an umbrella and the magic 8 ball.

A second message follows a short while after.

**Nialler:** _I’m away to the funeral for 1, will show me face afterwards and the train is at 4, expected to get in at half six. Be wit u for say 7, if that’s ok? X_

It takes considerable effort to convince Niall to let Harry pick him up from the train station. Even though it’s not far Harry would rather drive miles than see his mate lug his bags from train to taxi and back again two days later. It gives Harry something to look forward to, too, getting out the house. He then realises how pathetic his life has become.

Still, the revelation isn’t a rocket up Harry’s arse and he spends most of the day sitting about the house waiting for it to be six o’clock so he can go get Niall. He does spend a while stood in front of the wardrobe staring blindly at his clothes wondering what he might wear tomorrow, but he doesn’t actually get any closer to making a decision. He can’t even knock up a shortlist.

He gets into the car at quarter to six, praying for traffic so he doesn’t get there too early. Not too much traffic, of course, just enough to delay him by five or ten minutes, but naturally there is  _ no  _ traffic on the day he actually wants it.

Harry begins his second lap of the one way system in a desperate bid to waste time, and finally at 18:26 he pulls into the station and into the 20 minute drop off zone. He hopes Niall’s train won’t be delayed as he jogs across the slip road towards the entrance. The train station hasn’t been renovated since about the year 1500 and it shows in the dated architecture, graffiti and smell of drain water and piss.

Once inside, Harry scans the crowds, trying to pick his friend out of the business men and women and businessmen, families, shifty looking teenagers and elderly ladies with push along trollies. The arrivals and departures boards above his head tell him that Niall’s train arrived at platform 2 on time three minutes ago. He follows the signs for platforms 1-4 and moves along a bit, hoping that Niall hasn’t come through a different route inexplicably.

Several more minutes pass and he starts to feel antsy as he waits, and he wishes they hadn’t banned smoking in public places. But then, a bedraggled tracksuit-wearing man with purple bags under his eyes and Weetabix splattered on his t-shirt appears in the crowd and Harry forgets all about it.

“Jesus, Styles, get here you little bugger!” Niall hollers across the place as they clock eyes, and then he’s charging at him with arms wide open and a broad grin across his familiar face.

Niall flings his arms around Harry tight and squeezes him. It’s the most human contact Harry’s had in months and he’s surprised to find he has to battle back the tears as Niall rocks him back and forth and hammers his palms on his back. He’s missed Niall so much; more than he’d realised.

Harry holds onto him tight, not wanting Niall to back off too soon. He’s not sure if Niall feels it too, or if he’s just so pleased to see a friendly face, but they stand there in the middle of the bustling crowd rocking back and forth in each other’s arms for what feels like hours.

“Are you well?” Niall asks as he eventually steps back and surveys Harry like a parent.

Harry lies. “Yeah, feelin’ good. You?”

“Never better,” Niall says, slapping his hands against Harry’s shoulders and looking up into the vaulted ceiling of the station. It’s grotty and there’s bird poo splattered all over it, it’s more overcast than sunny and there are people  _ everywhere  _ , but Niall’s drinking it all up like it’s the Museum of Modern Art.

“It’s good to be back!”

“Good to have you back, even if it’s just for a few days. How was the funeral?”

Niall looks back down with an expressionless shrug. “Felt like an imposter, mate. Felt like I was at the wrong funeral. I didn’t know a soul. Found meself actually wishin’ me girls were there, just so I’d have something to do!”

Harry smiles. He knows how precious Niall’s alone time is, so that is really saying something.

“I know that’s a bad thing to say, at a funeral of all places, but I was so  _ bored!  _ God, that makes me sound bad doesn’t it? I’m not getting into heaven.”

“Think that ship sailed long ago, mate.”

“Ha, yeah you’re probably right!” Niall agrees with a light-hearted chuckle.

“You look, uh, casual. Did you go-”

“Of course I didn’t go to the funeral dressed like this!” Niall says with a tut and a sigh. “I couldn’t travel in me penguin suit, could I? These are my home clothes. I know I’m not home now and I know they’re a state, but honestly, who the hell cares?”

Harry laughs and shrugs. Niall is absolutely right.

They chat almost non-stop the entire drive home, made longer by the second wave of rush hour traffic that he always experiences in the centre of town. Niall, obviously, has the most to say, because Harry’s only interesting topic is off-limits due to the very nature of it. So, Harry listens as Niall catches him up on everything with the girls. Amelia is almost four and starting school in September, which Niall repeatedly says he can’t believe. Harry can’t either; he remembers Niall’s announcement that Ciara was first pregnant; he can’t believe it was so long ago now. Amelia and Erin-May are thick as thieves with only eleven months between them, and Niall says the two of them together supply the majority of Niall’s headaches. Though they’re only two and a quarter and sixteen months old respectively, they get into everything and everywhere, playing them up in public and discovering things that can be pushed over or defaced or broken wherever they go. Since learning to walk three months ago, Erin-May has emptied five bottles of shampoo, knocked over three mugs of tea and tipped out two entire boxes of cereal, and that’s just what Niall and Ciara are aware of.

“Do you need a shower?” Harry asks when they finally get home.

“Why, are you tellin’ me I smell?” Niall asks with a chuckle as he swings his duffel bag over his shoulder. “But yeah, I will hop in the shower if that’s all right? Be nice to do it in peace; I’ve got showering in a minute and a half down to a fine art, boy.”

“Well, you can take your time here.” Harry says, nodding distractedly. He wishes it was  _ him  _ that had to shower in 90 seconds because his house was overrun with kids needing to use the bathroom or be entertained. Still, now isn’t the time for moping. He’s going to get wine and takeaway food and stay up very late with his best mate and do all the selfish things he wants to because he  _ doesn’t  _ have kids.

He can hear Niall singing from downstairs. He hears the water shut off and the crooning becomes whistling. The door opens upstairs and he can hear Niall padding across the landing from the bathroom to the spare room. If Harry shuts off his brain and closes his eyes, he can pretend it's Louis upstairs and everything is normal.

But everything isn’t normal, and Niall eventually provokes the conversation, just when Harry thought he might be let off.

"There’s no trace of him at all in this place." Niall says, from where he's stood by the patio doors. He changed out of his Weetabix-sponsored apparel and is in knee length jersey shorts and a salmon pink tank top that hangs baggy off his lily white frame.

"Like," He moves towards the sideboard. "These surfaces are all bare." He looks up at the walls and over at the unit the telly rests on. "There's nothing."

Harry glowers, petulantly. He doesn’t mean to, or maybe he does. "Yeah, and?"

"Look, Haz, I'm only makin' an observation. But this isn’t healthy. It's like he never existed."

"He di- he  _ doe  _ s exist." Harry corrects himself.

"The only evidence of him is in your mind."

"You’re makin' me sound like a complete nutjob, Niall."

"Sorry," He says with a melancholy smile. "Not my intention. I just mean... everything you've got to show for the past eight or whatever years is what, stored in the loft? In a skip somewhere?"

"No, I’ve got it all."

"What's his take on all this?"

"Well it was his idea to leave so I think-"

"Not that, you doughnut, the fact you've obliterated him from the history books."

"I dunno," Harry admits after a childish pause, breath held and all. "He’s never said and I’ve never asked."

"Still love him?"

Harry gives Niall a dagger-sharp look. "Obviously."

"Does he still love you?"

"Obviously _ not  _ ," Harry says, waving an arm around to signify all the empty, Louis-less space around him. "Is this some sort of strange toddler-level therapy that I’m not savvy with, 'cause I don't like it."

"Sorry mate, no I’m just trying t'make sense of it all, is all. I can’t believe neither of yous're fighting for this."

Harry doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure where he could even begin.

"Wanna chat? Make up for all the time I’ve missed?" Niall asks, softening immediately and Harry feels some of the tension leave his body. He purposely doesn’t look at Niall directly, just shrugging elusively.

Niall gives him a realistic, gritty point of view that Harry hadn’t had from Zayn or his mum or Marina. It feels sharp and rough and leaves him exposed, but Niall means absolutely no spite and Harry can feel that too; that cushions the blow. With Niall, he gets perspective on what is and isn’t acceptable to take from your partner, in terms of arguments, snide comments, intentionally trying to hurt the other person and making them feel like they’re less.

"Have you talked to him? Asked him what he wants?”

“He walked out, Nialler, I think it’s obvious what he wants.”

“Yeah, but have you  _ asked  _ him?”

“Well, no but-”

“My take on it, an outsiders take but whatever, is there could well be more to this than meets the eye. I bet his pride is a big part of what’s stopping him talking. You know how stubborn he can be. And that’s under normal circumstances.”

“One of us will get hurt,” Harry laments sadly. “If we both want different things, one of us is goin’ to get hurt.”

“You don’t know ‘til you try, Haz.” Niall offers. “How would you feel if he got a new boyfriend? Or girlfriend.”

Harry feels like he’s going to throw up right there, just from the insinuation. “Don’t.” He says in a small voice. “Please.”

“Okay, but if no one makes any moves to sort something out, be it together or apart, someone else is going to come along and sweep you both off your feet and you’ll never be able to move on without knowing.”

Harry finds the idea of himself ever moving on laughable, but he can just picture Louis and some beautiful girl or a nice smart man, maybe from his work or someone from back home, maybe a school friend that he reunites with at some Doncaster local, and it makes him go pale.

“Haz, I’m not tryna scare yous.” Niall says.

“There’s one thing that I don’t get…” Harry can't understand. "Why are you so sure that there will be another chance for us? Like, it's been almost three months. Surely that's..."

Harry can't bring himself to say 'surely that's too long apart' because that sounds very much like tempting fate. If he doesn’t say it out loud it might not come true, and that's a very unhealthy mindset to have, he knows, but one that he has maintained for a while now.

Three months. 90 days. 12 weeks.

"No, I think three months for an eight year relationship is nothing. You're not happy without him, why not tell him?"

Harry shrugs, nostrils flaring. He wishes it was that easy.

"Can't live with him, can't live without him, eh?"

Harry laughs humourlessly. "That's it."

Thankfully, they stroll round to the Chinese takeaway and the topic is dropped. Niall goes on about his girls for days; he's animated and glowing as he speaks about the babies, and his hands are moving about wildly as he illustrates his points. He clearly idolises Ciara with the way he recalls stories involving her, and Harry nods and smiles along, injecting his own input where appropriate.

 

*

 

Their plates sit on the arm of the sofa, stained with soy sauce and little threads of leftover noodle that have long since gone cold. The front room is littered with beer cans and Niall is perched on one end of the coffee table. Harry is on the edge of the sofa cushion, leaning forward on his elbows. Somehow Niall had convinced him to take down the box of Louis’ things and look through it.

"Just before you added us all to that group chat, I told him that if he wanted he could go on this night out tomorrow and I’d just see you on my own at some other point before you left to go home."

"What ‘e say to that?"

Harry winces and shows Niall his last message from Louis.

"Oh, well..." Niall says, then he pauses. It drags out and Harry presumes he’s gathering ideas on what to say. It's not good, it can't be. "That’s mature, for Tommo. God I’m shocked - didn’t know he had it in him."

Harry feels compelled to defend Louis; it's an automatic reaction. He bites his lip and slips his phone back into his pocket. The Louis that he had for the last eight years isn’t necessarily a reflection on the Louis that everyone else knew eight years ago. Louis has done the majority of his growing behind closed doors with Harry, the Louis that Harry knows has so much more to him and a beautiful depth that the loud, brash, obnoxious twenty one year old version of him didn’t.

"I have to be a grown up don't I."

"Yeah," Niall says instantly, and Harry knows that means he's serious. "You do."

Harry looks away, considering this. Niall plucks something out of the box while he is looking away, and when Harry looks back he’s holding up a three aperture frame that used to be on the wall above the dinner table.

"See, this is cute!" Niall coos, holding up the frame. Harry forces himself to look at it. In the centre is a picture of Louis with nine week old Frankie on his knee and Harry with brand spanking new Katie in his arms, Lottie by his side and Gemma on the other side next to Louis.

The frame on the left is a picture of him with six month old Frankie covered in baby food and a wide gummy smile, and on the right is Louis pushing one year old Katie on the baby swing at the park.

"Yeah, but it's also in the past." Harry closes his eyes as he speaks.

"What, so Lottie and Gemma and the littluns are in the past, are they?"

"No, but-"

"Well then! Hang it back up!” Niall says firmly and Harry’s eyes shoot open. “Get some personality back into the place, for the love of God!"

"But-"

"No buts!" Niall interrupts. "I'm not asking you to hang every single picture of him you own back up but hiding it away and acting like it never happened isn’t healthy either! He was there, he was part of this! Don’t try and hide it."

"What would you know about healthy?" Harry tries a weak joke, indicating towards the takeaway and beer cans.

"Excuse you," Niall says, affronted. "I've been married longer than any of you lot, I think I know romance."

Harry stops; he and Louis have got eight years behind them. Four years more than any other couple in their friendship group - apart from Liam and Sophia of course. The print out picture of them at Southend is near the top of the box and his emotions overcome him as he takes it out of the box and looks down at it.

They’re not looking at the camera but at each other. They’d not even kissed at that point. They’d hardly even spoken, but the moment had been captured and immortalised forever in print by Perrie. To look at it, you’d think they’d known each other for a lifetime when it was taken, instead of just a few hours. Harry can still remember how deliriously in awe of Louis he’d felt upon meeting him. That feeling would never go away.

Suddenly, it feels too much. He’s  _ not  _ going to cry but it’s upon him and he can’t stop it. He feels his bottom lip quiver first, the epitome of pathetic, and he tries to subdue it with a laugh, tears his eyes away from the picture and looks to something,  _ anything  _ for a distraction, but he can’t catch one in time.

“Shit, hey c’mon, it’s all right!” Niall scrambles up to his side once he realises Harry isn’t messing about.

"I miss him, fuck I miss him  _ so  _ much, Ni, I- I just don't know what to do without him."

"It's all right mate, I get it, I do." Niall turns from a sideways one armed hug to a full embrace, lifting Harry up to standing and wrapping his arms around him. "It's all right, let it out, c'mon."

His voice is soothing and his hand traces delicate circles on Harry's back, slowly smoothing out the wracking sobs and evening out his breathing.

"I can't wait for tomorrow to see him but at- at the same time I'm terrified. Why does it, why is it me? What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing, Haz," Niall tells him assuredly. "Nothing that doesn’t deserve a second chance. Talk to Lou, get yourself some answers so you can both put this behind you and move on. Wherever that ends up being."

"What if he-"

"Then he does." Niall interrupts before Harry can even finish what he was going to say. "Whatever it is, if it’s what Louis wants then you have to respect that, same as he has to respect what you want. You both have to compromise. Meet in the middle."

"Urgh, why did I let you into my home?" Harry mumbles, feeling completely worn out and down. Niall chuckles and Harry leans forward, moves the box to the sofa and sinks down next to Niall, dropping his head onto his shoulder.

Niall hooks his arm around him and squeezes his weary shoulder. "What would you do without me, eh? I'm wasted all the way in Ireland, I need to be here as your PA. You've got room for three gingernuts and a blondie, right?"

Harry smiles. "Mind, you're better at drunken advice than Zayn is at stoned advice."

Niall snorts and claps his hand against his thigh at the same time. "That is  _ not  _ a surprise."

 

*

 

When Harry wakes up the next morning, it's to complete silence. He leaps out of bed, muddled for some reason, and creeps down the hallway. The spare room door is ajar, and when he cautiously pokes his head around the corner, the bed is unmade and  Niall's duffel sits at the end of it, clothes strewn everywhere and the Irishman is nowhere to be seen.

Harry makes his way stiffly downstairs to find Niall fully dressed and bright eyed in the living room; curtains and windows wide open.

"Times it? Y'been up long?" He asks on one deep in-breath, arms raised above his head in an unattractive stretch.

"Half eleven and a coupla hours yeah."

Harry pulls a face. "Urgh, you know you didn’t _ have  _ to be up early today?”

Niall laughs and looks up, lifting his tea. "Habit, sorry bud!”

Harry rolls his eyes. "Is it still warm, I'll make meself a cup."

"Yeah," Niall nods and Harry disappears briefly to make himself a cup of tea. He flicks the switch on the kettle; he can feel the heat radiating off it still and it boils again in just a few seconds. He blows on the surface as he carries it carefully back into the living room.

His Louis box is still there; Niall was considerate enough to move it to the dinner table. He has put everything back, seemingly, because the surfaces are still as bare as they were this time yesterday.

"Sorry 'bout the box thing, Haz. I didn’t mean to push you."

"It's okay," Harry says, sitting down opposite him and tapping absentmindedly on the cushion, hoping to summon Elvis. "You didn’t. I needed to hear some stuff, I reckon. Get over myself."

"Haz, I didn't mean it like that."

"No, I know, and it's all right. I mean, I needed to start getting myself back on track. I've gotta spend the whole evening in his company tonight, right, may as well try and prepare myself."

Harry can feel the very early beginnings of a dirty joke in there but he quells it.

Niall tells him he's already FaceTimed all three of his daughters, and Ciara, made the tea and had peanut butter on toast for breakfast, all without Harry even stirring. He apologises for being such a poor host, and Niall evens it by apologising for helping himself to tea and toast.

Niall easily fills Harry’s day with distracting activities; his father tendencies are screamingly apparent in that sense. Harry doesn’t have time to sit around and worry about tonight because he’s constantly doing something. Niall wants to ‘see the sights’ while he’s back, not that there  _ are  _ any sights to see, but Harry indulges him and it actually ends up being the most fun he’s had in months.

“The girls want presents from my ‘holiday’,” Niall explains as they stand in a retro sweet shop in the high street staring at plastic jars of boiled sweets and liquorice and sherbet. “They’ve no concept of where I’ve actually gone. That there isn’t actually a beach here.”

“There are sticks of rock here,” Harry points out, lifting up a brightly coloured plastic-wrapped stick of rock and waving it at Niall like a wand. “You can pretend they’re from the beach front.”

“Ah, they won’t be able to tell will they?” Niall laughs as he picks up three identical sticks. “Gotta get them all the same or there’ll be hell to pay!”

Niall pulls out a five euro note at the till, the young lady serving behind the counter almost too enraptured by him to notice, but Harry kindly points out the mistake.

“Sorry, force o’ habit, y’know?” Niall flashes her a winning smile and puts the note back in his wallet, piecing together assorted British coins until he has the three pound needed to pay for the sweets.

“You’re shameless, y’know?” Harry says with a chuckle as they slowly meander back towards home. It’s late afternoon now and Harry has silently started to get a bit jittery. That, mixed with the heat he’s currently dealing with, turns him into a sweating red mess.

“What?” Niall asks, though he knows just what Harry is referencing. “I can’t help it if people like my accent!”

“Girls!” Harry corrects. “ _ Girls  _ like your accent. I bet if you’d’ve said they’re for my three daughters she’d ‘ve been singing a different tune!”

Niall just flashes his killer smile and that’s how that ends.

 

*

 

Harry is just about ready to burst out of his skin and dash around the room as a skeleton in the five minutes before the first guest arrives. They’ve changed the plans slightly and everyone is coming to Harry’s first for pre-drinks and then they’ll go on to the pub together. Harry had nodded blindly when Niall had suggested it, his brain addled with panic and excitement and displaced nerves that he has no clue how to prioritise.

Perrie and Ryan are through the door first, Perrie tiptoeing towards Niall, screeching and clapping before throwing her arms around him. Ryan shakes Harry’s hand and then Niall’s, who brings his arm up and around him in a slapping hug.

Sophia and Liam are enveloped in a three-way hug with Niall before they’re really through the door, and even cool-as-a-cucumber Zayn shows up with a megawatt grin upon first sight of Niall. They rock from side to side in each other’s arms as Perrie sets down neon green plastic shot glasses on the coffee table and produces a bottle of vodka from her handbag, as if she’s eighteen again.

She reins Harry in to do a shot, and he can’t exactly wriggle his way out of it so he takes a small, sticky glass in his hands and dutifully swallows with a grimace at the apex of Perrie’s raucous countdown from three.

He is offered another, this time by Niall, and he necks it because it might help him feel better. It does feel a bit like he’s being carried away on a wave, out of control, but he has to keep reminding himself that it’s a _ good  _ thing; it’s time to let go tonight.

He can’t help but stumble over one thing though: Louis hasn’t shown up yet. Five, ten, twenty minutes go by and everyone is loud and procuring drink after drink from God knows where because Perrie’s bottle is empty now, but Harry can’t settle. Louis should be here, clambering on Niall’s back, crashing shot glasses together and screaming wildly about days gone by.

But he’s not.

As if sent by the angels, Liam falls into place next to him and drapes an arm around his shoulders. “All right, mate?”

“Yeah, uh- can we…” Harry motions towards the kitchen and Liam nods understandingly. They sneak out undetected by everyone else. Once they’re in the confines of the quiet kitchen with the door pulled to, Harry continues.

“Has uh, has Lou text you at all? ‘Cause he’s not here yet, and…”

He feels ridiculous, having to ask the whereabouts of the boy who used to live inside his heart. He still would if it was up to Harry but Louis had packed his bags and walked out.

“Uh, yeah,” Liam begins nervously. “He… he said he’d meet us there. Somethin’ about trains, or- I dunno.”

Harry nods sombrely. Louis obviously wasn’t up for socialising in their old home with their old friends, and Harry wonders why he was surprised. He’s still nodding, like a lunatic. “Okay.”

Liam leans one hip against the kitchen counter and studies him closely, eyebrows drawn down. “That’s honestly what he said, Haz.”

“I believe you,” He reassures Liam. He has no doubt that Liam is telling the truth, but he imagines that the information Louis had given Liam is a lie.

“You all right?”

“Mmm,” Harry agrees half-heartedly. “I’m gonna need more drink to get through this.”

 

*

 

Harry’s had a beer and three more shots of something maroon that Perrie had concocted, and by the time they’re getting around to ordering the taxi he can’t feel anything anymore. Niall has turned off Dad Mode and is full on wild; he and Perrie dominate the group, like usual. They’re just missing their third musketeer.

Harry feels much less lucid now and a little more amenable to mischief; they could’ve walked the journey to the pub had they been soberer. Harry’s nerves are creeping back in as they file out of the taxi, Liam taking care of the drivers fare and making sure all bags and wallets and phones are collected.

The two girls totter along arm-in-arm on either side of Niall, followed by Harry, Zayn and Liam.

“All right, pal?” Zayn asks, drawing out his cigarettes and offering one to Harry. He gratefully takes one and Liam scuttles off, motioning that he’ll see them inside.

“Cheers,” Harry says as he waits for the lighter. He watches Zayn cup his hands around his cigarette to light it and he waits for the puff of smoke to appear. As it does, Zayn hands him the lighter and squints through the plume.

“You gonna be all right tonight?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, breathing in his first drag. He’s been asked this a million times but it still feels like the first. “Gotta be, haven’t I?”

“No,” Zayn says, which takes Harry by surprise. “You don’t ‘have’ to be anything, Haz. Not ‘til you’re ready.”

They don’t talk again for a few moments, just stand there together looking like a dry ice machine. Zayn sucks down his nicotine relentlessly and stamps it out with the toe of his black suede boot. Harry contemplatively finishes his and tries to look around as inconspicuously as he can.

“Do you think he’s here yet?” He asks, thinking aloud more than anything. He doesn’t really want an answer, which is ideal because Zayn just shrugs.

“If he’s not he will be soon.” Harry adds on. “Shit, I feel sick as a dog.”

Zayn looks at him grimly and Harry rolls the butt between his thumb and middle finger and sends it flying off into the car park. “C’mon. They’ll be starting without us.”

He follows Zayn through the double doors, a rush of warmth from the heater above the door hitting them in the face, even though it’s still balmy and warm outside. Niall and Liam are at the bar watching their beers being poured like proud parents. The two of them join them and soon, with five pints and two bottled ciders for the girls, they make their way through the bar and past all the tables, out into the beer garden.

And there he is.

This is the moment that Harry’s whole life has been building up to, or so it feels.

Louis is there, leaning forward on his elbow, chin resting on his closed fist smiling absently at whatever it is Perrie and Sophia are talking about, nodding every few seconds. He hasn’t shaved in the past few days, maybe not for a few weeks, and his hair sweeps over his forehead and curls around his ear. He’s dressed in a white t-shirt and probably black skinnies but Harry can’t see that far yet.

Suddenly he feels like he’s wading through jelly, struggling to get one foot in front of the other. Zayn’s hand in the small of his back pushes him along and he slips into his seat with robotic autonomy, Perrie on his right and Zayn sitting down next to him on his left. He sets his beer down in front of him and risks a glance at Louis across the table.

Every cheesy thing Harry has ever heard about  _ ‘time stood still as our eyes met’  _ or ‘  _ it was like there was no one else in the world but us’  _ is true as Louis holds him in his gaze for a moment or two, the smallest hint of an almost apprehensive smile playing on the corner of his lips. He smiles back but then the moment is gone, popped like a bubble in the air.

It’s easier to settle in than Harry had expected. Niall is the centre of attention and rightly so; the conversation flits from memories of the past twenty years or so, to anecdotes of family life that make everyone howl with laughter and ‘ _ awww  _ ’ until their throats are hoarse. Niall takes ten minutes out at nine o'clock to FaceTime the girls as they go to bed, and Harry watches him, trying not to be too obsessive, as he recites one of their favourite story books word-for-word from memory.

He smiles warmly to Sophia as he turns back; she had been watching Niall too.

“Right, time to get well and truly shit-faced!” Niall yells once his phone call is ended. He beckons Liam, Louis, Ryan and Zayn over to the bar with him, leaving Harry with the girls. He knows that Niall doesn’t have any malice behind his actions and he knows that if he was forced towards Louis he’d probably be mentally plotting Niall’s death right about now, but he can’t help but feel pathetic and helpless as he watches them go over his shoulder.

He turns back round and tries a reassuring smile. Sophia lifts her drink to her mouth and Perrie fiddles with her hair; golden curls tumbling down past her shoulders. Harry can feel the tension; the elephant in the room. The elephant being him. He knows they’re dying to ask him if he’s okay, or tell him he’s going to be okay - like they can guarantee that.

The seating arrangement is all cocked up once the boys return and Harry now has Perrie on his left and Liam on his right. Louis, predictably, is still as far away from him as he can be, next door but one to Perrie so they can’t accidentally make eye contact across the table. He wonders if that was intentional, had it been planned while the lads were at the bar.

Still, there is much alcohol to be had. There are two trays of shots and a fresh beer for everyone. He grips the cool glass carefully and it’s the only thing he’s sure of right now. The sharp, burning tartness of the spirits and the dull, heavy taste of beer on his tongue do not mix well together but they get him towards where he wants to be.

Niall is telling jokes, because apparently he’s got some good ones now. That proves to be a lie, however, and most of the punch lines fall flat. ‘Dad jokes’ is the term, Harry believes – he’s been accused of having the same calibre of humour in the past.

Perrie appears particularly offended by the quality of the gags and even Liam’s polite chuckle is strained. But it’s just Niall; you can’t help but be endeared by him and soon he has them all in fits. He fires them out in quick succession, his supply seemingly never ending.

“I’ve thought of another one! This is the best joke ever!”

“Is it your outfit?” Perrie japes, eliciting a loud series of  _ oooh’s  _ and belly laughs from everyone.

“Oooh, hilarious!” Niall sneers, sticking his tongue out. “No, listen. Why did the can crusher quit his job?

Everyone groans.

“C’mon it’s a good one!” Niall says, eyes aflame.

“Dunno. Why?” Liam asks reluctantly, throwing up his hands.

“Because it was soda pressing!” Niall exclaims with a raucous clap at the punch line. “Get it? So depressing? Ha!”

It takes Harry a beat to get it, then he realises the delicious pun and involuntarily shrieks with delight, clapping his hand over his mouth when the next table over turns to look at him.

“Oh God, I mighta known Harry’d like that!” Sophia chimes and Louis’ chuckles, audibly, for the first time since the back-and-forth began. It might not’ve meant anything to anyone else, for the world doesn’t stop and no one seems to notice at all, but Harry’s attention is immediately drawn to Louis and the burst of actual happiness that he hasn’t seen in so long. It’s like looking at twenty one year old Louis again, just a bit skinnier and a bit beardier.

“It’s not funny if you’ve to explain it, Nialler!” Liam protests, though he’s smiling.

Niall sets about trying to defend himself and Harry looks away, smiling softly. Louis’ gone back to staring at his drink, but the faraway look in his eye is fond. Louis has relaxed; that much is evident because Harry continues to hear his scratchy yet high pitched laugh in and amongst the chorus of other laughs that goes around the table, but he doesn’t dare look over.

Later on into the night, whisperings of a newly opened club offering unlimited Prosecco for £20 begin. Perrie looks like she’s struck gold and Sophia’s ears prick up; then it’s all they hear about until they all agree universally that they’ll go there next.

 

*

 

The club with all the Prosecco is very dark and very loud, the whole place rocks on its foundations with the bass from the EDM that pulses through. Harry can’t even remember the name of the place but he has a long stemmed glass in his mitts at all times that keeps magically getting refilled and his attention is off Louis which is also good.

He’s not thinking about him at all. No.

He’s swept along with the masses a bit, which is still a good thing, he reminds himself. There is a fanfare and confetti falls from cannons up in the rafters as 90’s Hour begins. For what feels like hours they flit between guzzling drinks and posing for Niall’s photos and tearing up the dance floor to Groove is in the Heart and Let Me be your Fantasy.

Harry’s not sure of much going on around him, as long as he has his drink. He can make out Sophia’s long hair as it swooshes with her movements and Perrie’s excitable squeak every time a song she knows comes on, which is every time. There are other bodies around him that may or may not be those of his friends, but he doesn’t care. Even after 90’s Hour (Harry’s sure it was only actually, like, twenty minutes) ends and the music returns to the EDM remixes of the current chart and nameless instrumental numbers, Harry stays on the dancefloor for a bit. He sways drunkenly to Kygo and Years & Years and songs that he just doesn’t recognise but also just doesn’t care.

He loses sight of everyone, eventually. It was bound to happen, because he can barely see straight.

“Can’t see gay,” He mutters to himself with a reluctant, irritated chuckle. Irritated because he wishes he didn’t remember stupid things like that. Irritated because he wishes he could be past all that now. He presses his free hand to his forehead, wiping away the sweat that has gathered underneath the weight of his hair. No one is there to hear his funny.

If there is no one there to hear his memories, do they still matter?

He can’t see anyone he recognises to his right, and there are no familiar faces to his left. He’s nowhere near the booth, having sauntered and staggered his way halfway across the club whilst lost in the music. His glass is empty and warm and smeary where he’s been gripping it so tight; he abandons it on the nearest surface and lifts his gaze, taking deep breaths to try and clear his head.

Then he sees it. He wishes he could unclear his vision. Go back to blurry, incoherent shapes in a darkened, foggy haze distorted by laser beams and flashing strobe lights. He wants to look away but he can't take his eyes off it.

Thank God for Prosecco, for  _ all  _ the alcohol numbing his system right now because it’s the only thing that stops him from imploding. Then he finds his friends again – just moments too late to save him.

“Liam, who left him on his own?” He hears Perrie hiss.

“I thought you two were still there!” Liam hisses back.

“I turned my back for one second and he was gone!” That’s Sophia.

“What’s up babe? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Perrie positions herself in his line of vision and yells over the music, obviously going for casual cool and pretending they hadn’t just been talking about him like he wasn’t there. “Haz?”

He can’t do anything but make ridiculous nonsensical noises in his throat that don’t carry over the beat of the music. His gaze is fixed and Sophia is the first to cotton on. She reaches out for Perrie’s arm, garnering her attention. She turns with confusion etched in her expression and looks over in the direction Sophia is staring. Harry sees her shoulders sag.

_ Great,  _ he’s glad it’s not just him who realises what this means.

Game over.

It’s Louis, with a girl.

A girl in a frankly disgusting flower print mini dress, heels she is barely managing to stay upright in and hands that scamper over Louis’ thigh and shoulder and the middle of his chest. Louis smiles and leans away slightly, which only prompts the girl to lean in closer to him. She moves one hand to her hair, playing with her matted curls. Harry might not  _ get  _ girls but he knows drunken flirting when he sees it.

"Oh babe," Sophia runs a hand through her hair and tucks into his right side, slinking her arm around his waist.

"That little bastard, I'll kill 'im, I will!" Perrie seethes under her breath, turning to hook a supportive arm around Harry's other side.

"She’s all over him!" Liam keeps repeating in varying forms, _ thanks Liam. _

"Li!" Sophia warns, slapping his arm. "Don't make things worse. Harry, are you okay?"

_ No, not at all.  _ Harry can’t bring himself to lie, so he doesn’t answer.

"We can call it a night if you like, I’m sure Niall will understand."

"No-no, it's...not because of me, please. I'll be fine. I just need…"

_ I just need a minute  _ , Harry was going to say, but Perrie interrupts him before he can get it out.

“You need to get drunk! You need to have fun! Tonight is as much your right to have fun as it is anyone else's!”

“He’s already pretty pissed, Pez.” Liam points out.

It’s true.

“More pissed! C’mon!”

Perrie drags him back through the crowd towards their booth, Liam and Sophia following like disapproving parents. Ryan is loitering looking confused and Perrie shouts over the din for his attention.

“Stay here, Haz, no one move, okay?” Perrie instructs, guiding Harry over to Ryan with both hands on his arms. She pushes him down to sitting and ruffles Ryan’s hair as she drags Sophia along to the bar. Ryan looks so bewildered, throwing a questioning glance in Liam and Harry’s direction but he decides to pretend not to have noticed.

They don’t attempt conversation. Harry stares at a kink in the wood on the surface of the booze-slick table top; stares so hard his vision goes blurry. Thankfully, the girls soon return; Perrie clutching two pitchers of Woo-Woo and Sophia with two pitchers of mango mojito, four plastic pint glasses tucked under each arm.

Zayn’s appeared from somewhere and he and Ryan are shouting to each other over the bass that bleeds through the walls, something that sounds like rugby. It surprises Harry how well Zayn gets on with Ryan, considering they'd all thought for so long it'd be Zayn with Perrie in the end. Anyway, their unique little trio gives Harry something else to focus his frazzled brain on for a minute.

Perrie slips in next to Ryan and snuggles into his side, clutching the straw in her glowing pink beverage between her teeth. For all her seemingly good intentions at getting Harry through the night five minutes ago, she quickly becomes distracted and vacant once she’s back in Ryan’s orbit.

Harry, with nothing else to do and feeling honestly close to tears, pours himself a glass of the mango drink, ice cubes sloshing about everywhere and decanting half of the drink onto the table top. Shrugging unaffectedly, he grabs two straws from the handful Perrie had nabbed at the bar and dunks them into his glass. He leans back against the plush padded seat back and sucks his mojito up through the straw, the chill from the icy drink aching his sinuses.

Of course he can’t avoid Louis all night. He can hear Niall fairly close by; unless there just so happens to be another Irishman in the club tonight. But no, it’s his friend. With Louis. They’re deep in shouted conversation; Niall's hand on his shoulder as he yells something in Louis' ear. Harry can't see Louis' face which he's glad about.

On his second sticky glass of mango mojito, he starts to feel the burn of the rum in his throat. He can feel it travel all the way down his throat and expand in his chest. The only way to combat that is to drink more. He reaches across for the handle of the Woo-Woo pitcher and pours it into the dregs of his mango mojito; creating his very own mixer.

“Goin’ for a fag,” He mumbles. Sophia watches him get up and she looks like she wants to follow too but Liam puts his hand on her leg and she sinks back down again. Perrie and Ryan wouldn’t notice if he exploded right there in front of them.

He does what he always does, blurs his eyes so he can’t see in his periphery as he makes his way across the crowded room, through sweaty rhythmic bodies towards a metal spiral staircase that leads to the smoking deck.

It’s refreshingly serene up here, only a few hangers on, only the quivering thud of the bass. The air is thick with summer warmth. Harry takes himself to the corner and leans out over the balcony edge as he smokes. They’re only two levels up but Harry is drunk and he feels quite unsteady. He grips the railing tight. The plastic leaves that decorate the perimeter of the deck are intertwined with twinkling fairy lights; it’s almost pretty enough to disguise the discarded fag butts and smashed pint glasses hidden in the compost and bark chips.

“Have you got a lighter?” A female voice distracts him from staring at a triangular shard of glass.

He looks up and over his shoulder to see a dark haired girl hiding behind thick glasses with a stud in her cupid’s bow. She’s holding a cigarette between her fingers and looking at him expectantly, but kindly enough. Obligingly, Harry takes his pink Clipper out of his pocket and passes it to her.

“Nice. Pink to make the girls wink.”

Harry laughs softly. That’s familiar. “More like pink to make the  _ boys  _ wink.”

A puff of smoke erupts around her as she makes an apologetic face. “Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“It’s okay, I’m not offended.” Harry’s heard much worse. “I’ve had worse.”

“Good,” She leans against the barrier too, looking out over the rooftops of the surrounding clubs and businesses. “I’m Claire.”

“Harry.”

“You don’t look happy, Harry.” Claire chuckles to herself. “Happy Harry.”

Harry smiles weakly. He doesn’t need to unload on a stranger; that would really cap off the night in style. “I’m… I’m all right.”

“You sure?” Claire asks, pulling in a lungful of smoke and exhaling it out of the corner of her mouth. “You look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Harry shrugs, standing up straight. “I’ll be okay. I have to be ‘cause that’s what I keep tellin’ them all.”

“Who are you here with, Harry?”

He’s not sure why she keeps saying his name so often, but it kind of makes him feel secure. “My friends and… my friends are in there.” He nods his head back towards the door.

“Why are you out here alone?”

Harry holds up the cigarette between his fingers and Claire smiles. She nods, as if she understands Harry’s cryptic rubbish.

“Why are you so unhappy then?” Claire continues, Harry starting to feel less comfortable now. He takes a long drag, narrowing his eyes as the smoke curls around inside his lungs. “Who broke your heart?”

Harry laughs silently, feeling pathetic. “No one. W-why would you ask that?”

“Just a vibe.” Claire explains as if that’s perfectly normal. “Is he here tonight?”

Harry rolls his eyes but nods subtly.

“What did he do?”

Harry doesn’t want to go there. “Long story.”

Claire taps her ash into a beer glass wedged into the plant pot then straightens back up. “If you two’ve had an argument, I’m sure you’ll make up tonight. A bit of drunken make-up sex and a kebab, perfect. Maybe not in that order.”

Harry laughs out of his nose softly. “No.”

“Why not?”

“We’ve been split up for three months. We’re only here for our mate who is here visiting. Eight years I’ve lost, with him. My boyfriend. Well, y’know,  _ ex-  _ boyfriend. Of eight years.”

Claire makes a wincing face. “That’s shit.”

“Yep,” Harry agrees. “Besides, he’s moved on. Some bloody stupid girl in there in a stupid dress. I mean, he couldn’t even… wait, and all my friends there too witnessin’ it. I feel… I thought we might. I dunno… shit, sorry.” Harry trails off. He doesn’t want to think about what he thought might come of this evening, he just feels stupid and humiliated and embarrassed.

Claire doesn’t look up, which Harry is grateful for. It gives him a chance to blink away the bitter tears that are pricking behind his eyes.

“Sorry to hear that.” She says eventually. “Wish I could say something to make it better.”

Harry shrugs, because he can’t trust himself with words. She finishes her cigarette and drops into the empty glass.

“Things will get better though eventually, Happy Harry.” She says, looking up at him. Harry nods but he knows that isn’t true. “Oh here, this is yours.”

Claire hands him back his lighter and disappears back inside before he’s had a chance to get it in his pocket and look back up to say thanks. If it wasn’t for the scent of her perfume in the air, mixed with cigarette smoke, Harry would’ve been sure that he’d imagined her. His cigarette has burned down to the filter while he’s been standing there gormlessly, and he drops it into the same glass Claire had, balanced precariously in the compost.

He doesn’t know what to do next, but smoking another fag seems like a good option. He reaches back into his pocket for the lighter he just put away and lights up another, mindful to light the end not the filter. Unsteady on his feet, he staggers backwards and he feels his balance leaving him completely; someone must be out there looking out for him though because miraculously he lands on a bench. Humming to himself dopily, he puts his cigarettes on the bench next to him and takes another drag.

"Harry?" Another voice interrupts him just seconds later. He peers over his shoulder, expecting to see the mysterious Claire back for another counselling session, but it's not her. It's Sophia. Followed by Liam looking worried. It's the go-to reaction Harry seems to provoke from everyone who looks at him recently.

"Mr and Mrs Payne!” He smiles exaggeratedly, sarcastic humour dripping from every vowel and consonant. He looks between the couple with confusion. "What are you two doing out here? You don't smoke."

“Just came up for some air. It’s loud in there, right?” Liam says, and he’s  _ too  _ airy and  _ too  _ blasé to be natural. Harry raises his eyebrows as he takes a sharp drag.

"Just came to check up on me you mean?”

“No babe,” Sophia says, and Harry laughs unsmilingly. “Can we sit down?”

Harry waves his free hand in the air. “Be my guest.”

They’re in silence for a moment; Harry’s senses so overwhelmed he can literally hear the cigarette paper crackling as it burns down. He doesn’t look at Sophia and Liam but he can see them looking over at each other urgently and their motions are stiff.

He drops his fag end into the glass ashtray weighted down in the centre of the table and looks up at them.

“I think we’re too old for this scene now!” Sophia exclaims, horrendously fake-casual. Liam looks like he just ran over a bunny rabbit with his car and Harry just shrugs. “I wanna go to bed, not sure about you two!”

“Is that an invitation?” Harry manages, weakly.

Then silence ensues again. Harry doesn’t know what time it is, but the smoking deck is all but deserted now and he can hear more ruckus outside on the streets than coming from inside the club. He tears his eyes away from looking out over the balcony where he’d been daydreaming and looks back at them.

Liam is focussing so hard on picking the skin around his thumb he looks like he might combust, and Sophia has her head tilted to one side and is staring blankly at him.

“Neither of you look happy.” Harry observes, letting his shoulders droop. If he could get away with not having to hold his head up, he would. “Has somethin’ happened or is it me? Am I draggin’ you down as well?”

Sophia reaches across, unpeels Harry’s hands from where they are tightly clenched together and takes hold of them in her own. “No, love. We’re just- I’m worried.”

“You don’t need to be. I’m just drunk. People get drunk all the time. It’s Friday and I’m not dead yet so… I think I need to avoid Louis from now on.”

Harry’s not sure if the look that he sees Sophia and Liam exchange is real or just a figment of his drunken imagination, so he lets it go. He knows he’s not making sense now; there is no pattern to what he’s saying.

“Haz-”

“It’s funny,” He says, though it’s not funny at all. “We’re supposed to get over this one day and be friends, aren’t we? Ha. That’s ridiculous, right? How am I… how can we be friends if I still- I’m not gonna get through this am I? He’s going to kill me.”

“Harry-”

“He’s haunting me,” He says, dropping his head and talking crossly into his lap. “I thought I could do this. I  _ thought  _ I could  _ do  _ this.”

“Babe,” Sophia is up and around his side of the table in a shot. He slumps into her side and focuses on the smell of her dark locks. She smells much better than he does; all cigarette smoke and spilled alcohol and pathetic solitary desperation.

“I wanna go home, Soap.” He whispers into her neck.

“Me too,” She whispers back, running her hand up and down his arm. “Me too, babe.”

Harry sees Liam’s eyes dart quickly past Harry and then back again after a moment’s hesitation. Harry can’t bear to look round but he’s not an idiot. He knows who it was that had been standing there.

He doesn’t realise quite how drunk he is until he tries to stand up again. Liam and Sophia prop him up and guide him back inside, and it’s sad that this isn’t even rock bottom level pathetic. Inside, the pounding rhythm of music and the erratic strobe lighting make him even more unsure; almost frightened. He doesn’t pay attention to anyone and his eyes loll in his head as he’s placed in a chair. He can hear people shouting Louis’ name; every single person around him seems to be calling; flat voices, loud voices, an uncontrollable mix of accents and pitches. He wants it to stop getting louder; if it gets louder his eardrums will burst. Even with his arms over his head it keeps on going – then there is familiar hand on his bare arms, gripping him tight and burning his flesh.

“Get off me,” Harry repeats, over and over, though he’s not sure if it’s in his head or if he’s saying it out loud. His arms are pried away from his face and he closes his eyes so he won’t have to see Louis. Now free, his head rolls about on his neck uncontrollably.

“Harry, look at me.” Louis is saying sternly. He’s close; he can smell acidic spirits but that could just be his own aroma. “Harry, open your eyes. You’re okay.”

He opens his eyes after another few calm but firm requests from Louis. He blinks twice or maybe nine times to focus his vision. Then it’s dark again and the next thing he knows he’s in the toilets with Liam crouched down on the cold tiles with him. He feels a bit better and the acidic taste in his mouth tells him he’s just thrown up, which explains a lot.

“I’m sorry.” He says, attracting Liam’s attention. His brown eyes are weary and it doesn’t even seem as if he’s drunk at all. “I’ve been a twat, I’m sorry! I’ve- shit, what have I done? I’ve ruined…”

“You didn’t ruin anything, Haz.” Liam tells him gently. “We got you in here without too much trouble. You’re a lot heavier than you look, though, y’know?”

His head feels a bit clearer and his stupidity is all the more obvious now. He laughs self-loathingly at himself and tips his head back against the cubicle. “Where’s Lou? I thought- he was…”

Liam looks at him and then looks through the gap in the stall door.

“I’m here, Haz.” Louis’ voice comes from the other side of the cubicle and Harry closes his eyes, feeling hot tears brimming.

“It’s too much,” He thinks out loud. He tucks his knees up to his chest and leans forward so his knee digs into his forehead. It gives him a headache. Good.

He feels the shift in the universe around him and an illegible exchange of words, then Liam is swapped with Louis. He hears the lock on the stall slide across and he’s then aware of Louis down on his level, next to him. He lifts his head; Louis sat with his legs curled under his body, eyes fixed on Harry.

Harry chokes out an unexpected sob, squeezing his eyes closed once again, embarrassment burning bright in him like fire.

“It’s okay,” Louis reaches out, lifts Harry’s chin gently and then tucks a curl behind his left ear. Harry doesn’t even flinch. Louis drags his finger under his eye on the way back around and wipes away his tears. “I’m here.”

The knot in Harry’s throat, along with the restriction in his lungs,  is making it hard to breathe and he finally slides his legs across the tile until his feet hit the opposite side of the cubicle. It’s no easier to breathe, though, and he suspects it's Louis’ presence making him feel so breathless.

“I love you.” Harry mouths, positive no actual sound is coming out. “You came to help me,” Harry says again, and this time it’s a throaty squeak, but Louis hears. He reaches out and runs the edge of his thumb over Louis’ lips, feeling the drag and the sensation. “Lou. Please?”

“No, Harry,” Louis murmurs, his hands still burning great big welts into Harry’s skin. “Not like this. Not tonight. You don’t know what you’re saying, you don’t know what’s happening.”

“I’m fine,” Harry lies.

“No,” Louis says firmly. “You’re not fine. You need to get up, Haz, come on.”

Louis ducks away so Harry’s hand falls away from his face, his arm dropping back down to his side with a heavy slap of uncontrolled limbs. Louis gets to his feet, towering over Harry. He steps over his gangly legs so one foot is planted squarely either side of Harry’s pathetic body.

“C’mon, help me out - I can’t lift you if you don’t help.” Louis says again, holding out his hands plainly.

Harry looks at them; Louis’ hands are out and open, palms up and quivering only slightly. With a discontented huff Harry presses his back into the cubicle wall and takes Louis’ hands. Louis heaves him up and Harry once again collapses against the cubicle wall one he’s on his feet. Louis doesn’t let go of his hands and that’s about all that is keeping him up. Harry hangs his head, hunching his shoulders and slumps into the right angle of the junction of the door and the cubicle wall.

“Lou, I’m, I don’t… what-”

“C’mon, shush. Not now, not now.”

Harry doesn’t remember much else, apart from little snippets. He remembers being helped out of the cubicle by Louis and falling straight into someone’s - Liam’s – arms, the surge of the loud music returning and then echoic quietness again; outside, warm air and too many voices all at once then moving too quickly, and then silence again, and stillness.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please let me know if you enjoyed it! Comments are massively appreciated! x


	4. Heart Is Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: discussions about miscarriage and fertility issues between Sophia and Liam.
> 
> Plus the usual drinking, smoking, casual drug use and references, swearing and sex

 

_ 'I see you, here in the darkness, blinding light right where your heart is. If you're ready, heart is open, I'll be waiting, come find me.’ _

Find Me

 

 

The sun is pouring into the room when Harry wakes up but he’s freezing cold. He wakes with a start; choking on a sharp intake of air that knocks him for six. Colours and tiny white stars dance across his vision as he rolls from the foetal position onto his back and tries to get his heart rate to slow down. He closes his eyes because it’s a tiny bit easier like that. He swallows a few times; mouth dry and foul-tasting.

Slowly, he drags himself to a sitting position after a few minutes, the motion sending his head into a spin. The simple action takes almost all of his strength. He’s out of breath once he finally gets into a semi-comfortable position. After a few moments of mental preparation, he opens his eyes again and tries to remember something. Anything.

But it’s useless. He doesn’t even remember getting here, to bed. Is it Saturday or Sunday? He’s in his pants and last night’s shirt. He pats himself down, feeling disgusted. Panic sets in as he realises he’s probably lost his phone and wallet. He lifts the pillow, for some reason, and leans over the edge of the bed to check the floor – very bad move – then sees the thin, silver device and the battered old leather piece on the bedside table. He opens his wallet – nothing missing – and notices his phone is on charge. There is a glass of water and a strip of Paracetamol with two left in it.

He rubs his eyes and leans over -  _ slowly  _ this time - for his phone. He pulls the charger out of the end and unlocks the screen. It’s fully charged and tells him it's 09:42. He doesn’t know what time it was when they left wherever it was they went last night but he thinks it’s a safe bet to assume he hasn’t had much sleep. He doesn’t know what happened to Niall; he was supposed to be staying again but Harry can’t even remember getting in the taxi home, let alone whether Niall was with him.

He can’t collate his thoughts quick enough, and a soft rap on the door makes his blood run cold but then Niall pops his dishevelled, pale face around the door and Harry relaxes.

“Mornin!” Niall coos softly, mindful of Harry’s pounding head.

“Hey,” Harry answers weakly. His voice is new and scratchy and failing him. “All right?”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, stepping into the room. He’s in joggers and the same baggy peach coloured tank, milky white skin practically blinding. He perches on the end of the bed. “How’re you feeling?”

Harry makes an inhuman noise. “I think I had one too many shandies.” Harry mumbles, feeling embarrassed. He doesn’t even want to think about the state he was in last night and what he might have done or said. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed myself. Thanks for making sure I got back okay. For all this.” He waves his hand at the water and tablets, his charged phone.

“Wasn’t me, mate.” Niall says, raising his eyebrows and smiling quizzically.

“Eh?”

“I was too drunk to even get one foot in front of the other last night. It weren’t me.”

Harry looks at Niall carefully, trying to drink up what he’s just said. It takes him a moment to get there. “Who…”

“Tommo.” Niall says plainly.

Harry stares back blankly. “He wouldn’t…” He swallows thickly, struck with fear. “He’s here?”

“I just climbed over him to get outta bed; he’s definitely here, Haz.” Niall says quietly, for Harry’s benefit.

“What?” Harry utters, shell shocked. He slumps back against the headboard and brings his hands up to cover his face. “Shit. Fucking hell.”

“It’s all right,” Niall reaches over and squeezes his knee kindly. “Fancy a brew?”

Harry doesn’t. He doesn’t feel like anything. Miserably, he shakes his head.

“That’s fine. Least take your tablets, have a drink. You’ll feel better.”

Harry stares at the glass and the strip of tablets. He picks them up and turns them over in his hand. With a sigh he pushes two through the metallic cover and drops them into the palm of his left hand. He reaches for the glass - it’s lukewarm - and peers over the rim. He chucks back the tablets and empties the glass.

“There ya go!” Niall says softly. “Feel better yet?”

“Give ‘em time to work, Nialler.” Harry says, not having to force the tiny grin that escapes him.

“I’ll leave you to come round, mate. I’ll just be downstairs?”

“Okay,” Harry whispers, nodding.

He watches Niall go, and immediately wonders where Louis will be. He’s frankly terrified to see him again, especially with the added uncertainty of not knowing what the hell happened the night before. It feels ridiculous to be scared of seeing Louis. There had been times, in the early days, when he’d been filled with butterflies nervous to see Louis. There had been that time when he’d first met Jay that he’d been absolutely petrified to see Louis because that meant he’d soon be meeting the parents. But he’d never been scared before. After arguments, in the past, he’d been worried to see Louis initially because he didn’t know how it was going to go. But since they’d split, things couldn’t get any worse, so that worry had been eliminated. Until now.

He allows himself twenty minutes or so. He can hear vague movement outside the door from time to time, but Niall had pushed it closed when he left so he is safe behind closed doors for now. He didn’t tell Niall he prefers to keep the door ajar in case Elvis wants to come in. Then it comes back to him how the door had been open a crack when Niall had appeared, meaning, Louis had remembered to leave the door open a crack. Harry’s not sure how to deal with that information.

He feels embarrassment and shame colouring his cheeks and making them red hot and he’s not even faced Louis yet. His palms are clammy and tremble as he tries to door handle twice; his fingers slipping right off it the first time. Outside the bedroom, all the other doors are pulled shut and the landing is shadowy and cool. He’s dressed now, if you can call it that, in last night jeans and a clean t-shirt; the distant whiff of sick on last night’s shirt as he took it off.

He creeps down the stairs, taking them one at a time, pausing on the very last one before stepping off onto the carpet. He hasn’t looked at himself in anything more reflective than his phone screen since he’s been awake, and he has no desire to. He knows he looks awful, as bad as he feels, and there’s nothing he can do about now. Tentatively, he pushes open the living room door.

He hadn’t heard any noise coming from the front room as he’d approached, and when he opens the door it’s like being hit by the heat when you step off the aeroplane in a foreign country, except its tension and atmosphere instead of weather. Niall is on the sofa, tea resting on his thigh and Louis has his back to Harry; sat at the dinner table with his own tea billowing out steam around him, one leg tucked under the other. He’s hunched over, the knobs of his spine showing through the same white t-shirt he was wearing the night before. Harry can remember that much.

Niall looks up and Louis swivels around in his seat. His hair is pushed back off his face with a thick black elastic headband and he looks washed out and pale in this light.

“Hi,” He whispers, but it catches in his throat.

“Hey Haz,” Niall speaks up when it becomes apparent that no one else is going to. “Tea’s still hot, fancy a cup now?”

Harry just nods; it’s all he can manage with his heart in his mouth.

“Tommo? Fresh brew?”

Louis nods too, turning back to face away from them, from Harry. Niall gives him a difficult-to-read but grim expression as he passes by, patting him on the arm as if for good luck. Lord knows Harry will need it.

It’s just the two of them then. Harry doesn’t have a clue what to do. He wants to thank Louis, he wants to hit Louis, he wants to kiss Louis but most of all he just wants to feel okay again. He’s taken an emotional battering these past few months and how he feels now is an unpleasant culmination of all the feelings and hurt since April. Well, before April really. It’s not like one day they just decided off the bat to split. It  _ had  _ been a long time coming and Harry was starting to accept that now.

“All right?” Louis asks. Harry realises he’s just been stood there, God knows how long for. He looks up; Louis has shifted back around in his seat, legs stretched out and folded at the ankles, side saddle in his seat.

He nods silently because he doesn’t want to lie. Not to himself or to Louis.

“How did you sleep?” Louis asks. Harry just stares incredulously, softening after a beat.

Harry laughs because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Um, not well? I dunno…”

“Do you feel…”

“Rough? Yeah.” Harry says drily. Louis smiles, almost sadly. “My own fault, I know.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anythin’,” Louis says softly with the same half-smile. “You should sit down. You look a bit… peaky.”

Harry nods grimly – ‘peaky’ indeed. More like lousy, broken down,  _ debilitated  _ . He sits down on the sofa, leaving Niall’s spot open for his return, on the sofa that faces away from the dinner table. He’s painfully aware of Louis behind him but he just stares unblinkingly at the TV screen. It’s darkened right now and he can see the dust laying on the surface. He never normally sits here so he’s getting a whole new perspective. He’s not sure he likes it.

If there was an award for the longest time spent making three mugs of tea, Niall would win it. He eventually returns with two teas in one hand and the third in his other, settles back into his space on the couch and he doesn’t allow the mood to drop. His duffel bag is sitting in the corner of the room, all packed and ready to go, serving as a constant reminder that their time together is about to be shattered. It’s not been long enough; Harry doesn’t want to lose his friend again.

The conversation is kept light and they spend the last scraps of time as a trio out in the back garden. Harry is a little bit on edge the entire time, worrying that Sharon from next door will come bursting out at any moment, so happy to see Louis and reveal some awkward and potentially embarrassing things that Harry would rather were kept schtum. But he seems to be safe.

He feels better for a bit of warmth on his skin and some fresh air. Louis keeps the mood up, he and Niall sharing lots of jokes. Harry can sit back, enjoy a smoke and listen to the two men chat. He laughs where he is supposed to and even contributes some. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend they were all young again.

But it doesn’t last.

Ten minutes before one in the afternoon, Niall starts gathering up his things and bleating about calling a taxi. Harry had insisted that he’d drive him, and then tried to at least offer to pay for his cab when it was pointed out he was too hungover to drive, possibly still a bit drunk, and then Louis had said suggested that he could drive Niall.

Louis was visibly less worse-for-wear than Harry, and it makes sense. Harry doesn’t have a problem with it.

“Is that all right? To take t’car, I mean.” Louis asks, looking at Harry tentatively. Louis asking permission to use  _ their  _ car is another reminder of the separation in their lives now.

“Sure,” He nods, squinting against the sunlight. Louis nods and Harry takes that to mean  _ thank you  _ ; he thinks he sees the barest hint of a smile, but it’s gone before the idea can fully form in Harry’s mind.

He feels overwhelmed fifteen minutes later when he’s standing in his hallway, aware of Louis lingering behind him, enveloped in a bear hug with Niall. He smushes his face into Harry’s neck and clings on tight; Harry thinks he might cry. He swallows hard and grips Niall’s back, trying hard to catalogue and remember all his favourite things about his best friend, as memories are all he’ll have for the next God knows how many months.

“Safe journey, okay?”

“Don’t worry; I don’t think that thing goes fast enough to throw me overboard.” Niall says plainly, and Harry smiles weakly. “I’ll find m’ sea legs before going out onto the deck.”

“Your jokes are weak,” Harry says, but he can feel moisture behind his eyes and he laughs, mainly at himself, out of embarrassment.

“Oi, stop it, you’re gonna set me off!” Niall instructs, drawing himself out of Harry’s arms and slapping his arm well-meaningly. “C’mon, Tommo, let’s hit the road before this one starts!”

Harry steps aside as Louis gives a watered-down smile and takes the keys off the hook by the door, as if he’s never been away. He  _ has  _ been away, though, and Harry’s heart plummets once again. Any lower and it’ll be falling onto the floor.

“See you soon, Hazza, you know I’m on the other end of the phone if you need me, okay?” He says quietly as Louis makes his way out the door.

Harry nods. “Cheers, Nialler. See you soon, okay. Go get back to your girls.”

Niall’s grin is so fond, it makes Harry hurt. “Take care, pal.”

Niall picks up his bag and follows in Louis’ steps, out onto the sun-drenched pavement outside the front door. Harry falters in the doorway, unsure what to do after he’s waved Niall off and Louis is left standing there. He doesn’t look; he focuses his gaze on a dark patch of newer concrete where they’d dug up the road to lay fibre optic broadband two years ago.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Louis eventually says; and though it’s probably not been longer than a few seconds it feels longer. “Will you be all right?”

“Yes, I’m not a kid.” He answers, probably a bit sharply because he sees Louis’ roll his eyes. “Sorry. I mean, yes. I’ll be okay.”

“All right,” Louis says, nodding and looking up the path towards where the car and Niall are waiting. “I better… then.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, and he’s grateful Louis makes the first move in walking away because he doesn’t think they’d be going anywhere if it was up to Harry. He groans softly to himself and moves out onto the front step to watch them go.

He listens to the clunk of car doors and the rev of the engine as Louis puts it in reverse and backs out of the space. Niall has the window down and is hanging out of it waving and calling goodbye as they drive past Harry. He waves back fondly. Niall waves until they’ve turned the corner, until the only thing Harry has left is the very distant hum of the car engine, then there’s nothing.

Elvis appears from nowhere, slinks around his ankles and darts inside the house. Stupid, unaffected Elvis. Harry finds himself envying the cat, and not for the first time either. With a sigh, he goes back inside too, lets the door close by itself. He goes straight to the kitchen, pours a glass of water and grabs his fags.

After two pint glasses of water, his stomach aches but he feels better. He smokes a fag, showers and fills Elvis’ bowl. He’s rattling around the place waiting for Louis to get back. He is trying desperately not to watch the clock, but he’s running out of distractions. By the time he hears the car door slam closed and the key in the door, he’s almost ready to keel over with anticipation.

He’s not sure if he expected Louis to let himself in or not, and he hasn’t made a decision on how he feels about that as Louis comes in. He looks unassuming and timid, nervous almost - so unlike the Louis that flew around this place like a whirlwind three months ago and left with a bang.

“I’m back, he got off okay.” Louis tells him, referring to Niall.

“Good,” Harry nods. He’ll text Niall later; thank him and apologise for being such a crap host.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, nodding and looking around the room slowly. He’s sat himself back down at the dinner table and Harry is opposite him on the big sofa; they’re facing each other.

“I think I owe you an apology. And to say thanks?”

“Do you?” Louis asks, his expression hard to read. They look at each other silently until Harry nods.

“Yeah, uh, Niall. He told me that you uh, you made sure I got back okay.”

Louis shrugs, but it’s not quite unaffected. “It’s okay,” He mumbles, looking at the floor then back up again. “You needed help, I couldn’t leave you like that.”

Harry’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“You- you don’t need to apologise to me, Harry.”

“Did I… did I do anything that I  _ do  _ have to apologise to you for?” Harry asks, treading carefully. He finds himself bracing; If Louis has anything to report back, Harry sure as hell won’t want to hear it.

“No, love,” Louis says softly, and the term of endearment takes Harry by surprise. “You were fine.”

Harry wonders if Louis is holding back just to save Harry some face, but as Louis wouldn’t admit that even if it was true, and Harry can’t remember much more like indecipherable snippets of last night, he’ll never know.

“Thanks again, for taking Niall back.” Harry says, just because he feels the need to keep going.

“You don’t have to thank me for everything, Haz.”

“I know, I just… I don’t know what to do. Or say. To be honest. Is it okay not to know?”

Harry hadn’t planned to shown his hand quite as embarrassingly, but there are a lot of things that have happened recently that he hadn’t intended on. He cringes at the static stuttering tone of his voice, words ugly and bare as they fill the room. “

“’Course it is,” Louis says. They’re still so far apart and it feels wrong. “It would be weird if you like…had something to say all planned. That’s not like you at all.”

Harry smiles; he can’t help it. Hearing Louis give body to his character, an accurate statement that gives testimony to the years they’ve been in each other’s lives is something Harry hadn’t anticipated.

“You act like I don’t know you, Styles, but I do.”

Harry’s heart is quickening by the second. “Are we gonna talk?” He asks, feeling encouraged by the gaining momentum but knowing that it will most likely quell after he asks the question.

“We are talkin’ aren’t we?” Louis asks, almost playfully.

“You know what I mean…” Harry says, trying not to smile, but his muscle memory betrays him.

“Yeah, okay,” Louis agrees. “Tea first though? Escape for a fag if you want one?”

Louis rises from the table and heads to the kitchen with the dirty mugs laced through his fingers. Harry considers a smoke in the back garden but he decides against it, he’s just showered and everything. He stays rooted to the spot. He can hear the kettle whistling as it draws nearer to the boil and he can hear Louis move around the kitchen, kids outside and an aeroplane overhead, but apart from that it’s silent. He doesn’t even know where Elvis went – though upstairs in that patch of sunlight that always lands in the middle of the bed is probably a safe bet.

He noncommittally thinks about plucking up the courage to ask Louis to come and sit on the sofa with him, but when he returns with two teas he does it himself. He places the cups down on the coffee table with gentle little knocking noises and settles on the end of the sofa. The two of them must look like bookends until Louis shifts; tucks one leg under the other and turns his body to face Harry.

“Sit back, you’re making me nervous.” He says, and Harry immediately shuffles back. He shifts slightly to the side as well, so their bodies are facing each other. “That’s better. Now I know you’re not ‘bout to run off.”

Harry knows Louis is joking, but it doesn’t sit right with him, the notion of running away. “Louis, I-”

“I know, sorry, I didn’t think about it before I said it.”

“It’s okay,” He placates. He looks at Louis. He’s in navy Umbro shorts that reach his knees but have rucked up as he sat down. His legs are still the same, obviously. Tanned and quite hairy; a dent in his left shin from footie and a scar on his right kneecap from trying to skateboard drunk; just above that his homemade tattoo of a smiley face, courtesy of Ed before Harry had even known him.

“Your hair’s getting long again.”

_ Yes, that’s what hair tends to do over time.  _ “Yeah.” Is all Harry can actually say, and he mentally curses himself.

“It’s a nice day, huh?”

“Yeah it is,” Harry agrees, and he’d laugh if he wasn’t so broken. Small talk is really top notch,  _ just  _ what he wanted! Though he must twitch or roll his eyes or something because Louis lets out a deep breath and snorts.

“What!?”

“Nothing!” Harry laughs, feeling a bit of tension leave his body as he shares a giggle with the boy he’s devoted the entirety of his twenties to. “Just… that was  _ really  _ bad wasn’t it!”

Louis grimaces exaggeratedly. “It was pretty stiff.”

They’re not quite at the point of acknowledging innuendos yet, though, it seems. Harry lets it slide by, albeit a bit reluctantly, but it does feel a bit easier now.

“You were pretty drunk last night, H, never seen y’that way before.”

Harry shuts his eyes and makes a noise. “Don’t, I’m embarrassed.”

“No need to be,” Louis says with a chuckle. “I’m not tryin’ to embarrass you; I just thought you should know.”

“Yeah well don’t.” Harry snaps. Louis starts to laugh again, he hasn’t realised Harry isn’t joking around.

“Wait, what?” He asks, quirking his eyebrows. “Oh c’mon, get over yourself, Harry! We were just havin’ a laugh!”

Harry suddenly feels like Louis is purposely humiliating him and pointing out his weaknesses. So what if he got blind drunk, it happens once in a blue moon and besides, who is Louis to judge Harry now? Harry’s nothing to him anymore, Louis made sure of that himself. Memories of Louis and the girl last night come flooding back to Harry, a metaphorical punch in the gut. Louis had been all over someone else last night, while Harry was hurting.

He’s not sure what he hopes to achieve in term so of his wellbeing by asking the question he does, but the words are tumbling awkwardly out of his mouth before he can very well stop them.

“I saw you with that girl, by the way.”

“What girl?” Louis asks, the skin between his eyebrows creasing as he frowns, his mug of tea halfway to his lips.

“Last night.” Harry says, feeling his cheeks grow hot and he presses his chin to his chest morosely.

“Oh, so you do remember last night?” Louis asks with a sombre chuckle.

“Bits of it,” Harry says snappily. “So there is something that happened?”

“What exactly do you think you saw, Harry?” Louis asks, putting down his tea and straightening up in his seat.

“I saw you and her. I know I don’t have the right to be upset anymore or whatever, but… I was right there. You could’ve, I dunno, stopped. Waited til later. She was all over you!”

“And?” Louis asks, glaring at him expectantly. The word metaphorically slaps Harry in the face and he feels instantly sick. “Why would that be any concern of yours?”

Harry can feel himself faltering. He’s not ready for this.

“It’s… I- oh fuckin’ hell, don’t do this to me now, please!” He lunges forward, head in his hands. He can’t help the tears that spill over his lashes onto his cheek.

“Harry, stop.” Louis says firmly. He puts his hand on Harry’s knee, but it’s of little comfort. “What you think you saw, you  _ didn’t,  _ okay? If you’d have stuck around for four more seconds, you’d have heard me tell her I’m gay. Not interested. At all.”

“Gay?” Harry asks, lifting his head off the sofa and eyes squinting in confusion. “What, b- why would you say that?”

“Dunno, maybe ‘cuz I am?” Louis says, with an expression that Harry can’t translate. “Or did you miss the part where we were shaggin’ each other’s brains out for eight years?”

Harry's confusion is an all-consuming nausea. Louis had told him when they first met that he was bi. Yes, he’d never been one hundred percent happy with that label but it rarely came up in conversation, surprisingly, and when it did he never mentioned not feeling the same way anymore.

“We were together for so long, I stopped being interested in _ anyone  _ , boy  _ or  _ girl. You were it for me. Over time I just started identifying less and less with that… that label.”

“Why’d you never say anything?”

“Didn’t think I needed to. Thought it was obvious.”

Harry’s not sure if that was supposed to feel like a dig, but it does.

“You tried to kiss me last night.” Louis continues to tell him.

The memory makes Harry’s stomach flip. His eyes fill with tears again. He remembers. The hot liquid behind his lids burns and he remembers. He remembers being so close but yet so far. He nods. Louis carries on. Tells him that Harry deserved more than a rebound fuck while blind drunk; that they  _ both  _ deserve more than that. Harry can’t even bring himself to agree because Louis is gearing up to the big final rejection, he can feel it, and he can’t do anything more than brace himself and keep his eyes closed.

“Stop,” Harry interrupts Louis once he’s heard enough. He covers his ears with his palms. “I don’t wanna hear any more. Just leave if you’re leaving and let me get on with my life, alone. We can’t be friends, Lou, it won’t work.”

“Is that what you want?” Louis asks, and it’s apparently his turn to be sharp and cutting.

Sniffing fiercely, Harry drops his hands into his lap pathetically and shakes his head. “No.”

Louis is silent for a moment and doesn’t move. He’s so still, Harry his closed eyes just to double check he’s even still there. Eventually, Louis speaks. “You scare me Harry.”

“Wh- how…” Harry chokes incredulously, his confusion manifesting itself in a laugh. “What the hell?”

“I didn’t know what to expect, yesterday, coming out for Niall’s do. I dunno about you but I was bloody bricking it. You’re not the only one with emotions y’know, despite what you might think about me. I damn well near had a heart attack on the train I was that fucking worked up. To finally face you… I didn’t know what to expect. I was so scared you’d be okay, and happy without me. Having fun, even, and- and maybe met someone new or… I didn’t know what to do or how to handle it.”

Harry lets out another humourless laugh. Gaining Louis’ perspective on their time apart is certainly insightful, and it’s a side to him that Harry hadn’t even stopped to consider, really. “I’m not okay  _ or  _ happy."

"Neither am I," Louis admits quietly, but that much is seemingly obvious to Harry now. Louis looks away, down at the floor and Harry examines him closely; pale skin, thin lips drawn in between his teeth, tired eyes.

"You’re not crying over your ex in club toilets, so you're doing better than me." Harry says, self-deprecatingly, and slightly irritated by the fact that it’s automatic for him to try and reassure Louis, make him feel better. Bitter about the fact that Louis left him but he still feels the overwhelming urge to protect and comfort him.

Louis lifts his head again and barely smiles. "No, but crying over my ex in the middle of a crowded train carriage isn’t much better, right?”

Harry’s heart sinks. It seems this isn’t going to be cut and dry. They’re both in _ way  _ too deep and it’s clear now it’s not going to be a case of going cold turkey on each other then resigning themselves to hate for the rest of their lives. It’s complex and there are so many layers to cut through before what’s under the surface, whatever that ends up being, can be revealed and dealt with. Louis is still talking, slowly and fractured, and Harry tunes back in.

“Right in the middle of rush hour, carriage full’a businessmen in suits but I just couldn’t stop meself. One of them offered me a hankie! Like, an actual real life handkerchief. I felt like I was cryin’ to me grandad.”

"I... I'm sorry." Harry says, and Louis shrugs. "Are you going back to your mums?"

"Yeah," Louis answers after a pause. "She’s expecting me back, and I don’t really want to leave her on her own."

"But you didn’t mind leaving  _ me  _ on my own?" Harry mutters before he can stop it.

"Harry don't, you know it’s not the same thing.

Harry nods immediately, feeling like shit. "No, I know. Sorry. I didn’t mean that."

"S’alright.”

"Does Jay hate me?" Harry asks, because he apparently enjoys the pain. He can’t picture his mother-in-law –  _ ex  _ mother-in-law – ever hating anyone, but causing pain to her only son might just be the straw to break the camel’s back. Nevermind it wasn’t Harry that had walked out on his home and his life. He’d sent flowers and the message he’d had back was lovely, he’d screenshotted to make sure he’d never lose it, but words are easy enough to type, to appease someone temporarily.

Louis confirms that Jay doesn’t hate him even though, again, Louis could quite easily be lying to spare Harry more embarrassment. He acknowledged the flowers, telling Harry it was a nice thought. They don’t talk much more; even the small talk that it seems is the new norm for them peters out eventually, and one of the last things Louis says to him is sheepishly asking Harry if he can borrow the car for a while.

“I know I don’t have the right to ask, but it is half mine and I know it’s me own fault but-”

“You can have the car,” Harry interrupts, saving both of them a lot of heartache. “You’re right; you need it more than me. I walk to work every day anyway.”

It’s not really a lie or the truth; it’s halfway in the blurred lines of the two. Louis seems relieved though, and Harry just nods when he says he’ll return with a full tank. It reminds Harry of when they’d rented a car in Spain, and had to return it full. That thought makes him sweat.

“Thank you,” Louis says, looking relieved. “And I mean it, yeah, it is good to see you.”

Harry rolls his eyes and scoffs softly because he is too ill-prepared to deal with this situation.

“I mean it, Haz.” Louis reassures him again; the moment feels heavy.

“Yeah, well… you too.” Harry says, hoping his protectiveness over his own sanity doesn't come across as arrogant.

Louis asks if he’ll be okay, if he needs anything, if he can do anything. Harry feels a bit like when he was a kid and he was pretending to be ill but there was nothing wrong with him. Louis is throwing all these offers of help left right and centre and Harry doesn't feel like he deserves any of them.

Louis reluctantly agfrees to leave Harry be, seemingly satisfied with harry’s weak promises. He says he’ll text Harry when he’s home, and Harry agrees gratefully. There isn't really a goodbye properly. That aspect of their slowly intertwining lives is still under a question mark.

Harry lingers outside long after Louis gone, just caught in time. He sits on the doorstep and Elvis joins him, clambering into his lap. He can see the tyre tracks from where Louis had backed out through a puddle, and he wonders how long it will remain there for, soaked into the concrete before it dries up.

An approaching car claims Harry’s attention back; signalling Elvis’ cue to bolt. Harry recognises it as Sharon and her husband. The car is moving oh so slowly and Harry tries not to gawk too obviously as he watches them pull into the parking space. Sharon’s husband - Dan is probably his name – is driving. Harry watches and it dawns on him that Sharon must have had her baby.

He can make her out in the backseat leaning over and peering in at a car seat. Excitement bubbles inside Harry when he realises she has had her baby. He hasn’t been near a newborn baby since Katie was born so he’s itching to at least catch a glimpse of the little man.

Harry lingers by the front door and tries not to seem like a creep as he waits for them to clamber out.

“Hi Harry love,” Sharon calls over to him from the car as she spots him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m good,” Harry lies as she approaches ahead of her husband who is leaning in through the open back door of the car, obviously fetching the baby. “Looks as though congratulations are in order!”

Sharon laughs, her hair probably two days past its best and her eyes bloodshot and weary, but they still glow. “Yes, we’re finally home! Little man was born on the second. We’ve been in for a while because of feeding issues! All rubbish old woman stuff, you won’t be interested!”

“I bet he’s beautiful, does he have a name?”

“Daniel, after the old man!” She jerks her head towards Dan, approaching with the Maxi-Cosi car seat in one hand and an overnight bag and an ‘It’s a Boy!’ balloon in the other. Harry was right, he is Dan.

“Hi, congratulations!”

“Thanks,” Dan beams, setting the car seat down gently on the pavement, a safe distance from the edge and putting one leg out to protect him further.

Harry crouches down and peers in at the tiny little being, sheer delight exuding from every pore. The baby’s skin is a dark dusky pink and paper thin, eyes screwed shut and his brow is furrowed as if deep in thought. His bottom lip juts out in a pout and his tiny little fingers that are no bigger than a paperclip splay out rigidly as he jumps in his sleep.

“He’s so beautiful, hello little Daniel.” Harry runs his finger delicately over the folded edge of Daniel’s hat and breathes in that wonderful newborn smell.

“He’s a treasure, congratulations to you and the whole family.”

“The terrible twosome will be home soon, they’ve been with Dan’s mum. So your peace will be shattered soon!”

“It’s okay they’re no trouble.”

“And how’s that gorgeous man of yours?” Sharon asks, patting Dan on the arm as he takes baby Daniel inside.

“Oh y’know, still gorgeous as ever.” Harry says weakly, hating himself, but it’s not exactly a lie.

“Will he be around soon? I’d love for him to meet Daniel too.”

“Uh, yeah, he should- he should be around more often from now on, I think.”

_ That’s optimistic  _ , Harry thinks.

“Wonderful news,” Sharon beams. “Well, take care of yourself. I need a sit down already! See you around, lovey.”

“Bye Sharon.”

 

*

 

Harry had been dreaming about Louis and to roll over and find the bed empty in the few seconds that immediately follow waking up on Sunday morning is painful, but then he grabs his phone and sees his text conversation from the night before with Louis  and it doesn’t feel so bad all of a sudden.

Louis had text Harry that same Saturday evening. He hadn’t anticipated hearing again from him, given the way they’d left it and all. But he’d text him to let him know that he was home, and thank you again for loan of the car, and Harry’s cursory ‘no worries’ message hadn’t been sent with the anticipation of starting an evening-long conversation. But that’s what had happened. It had felt easier by text, eliminating the face-to-face aspect of communication that had always famously held Harry back in the past, With time to form his responses and let his emotions out before putting his words into pixelated form for Louis.

Within a week or so, things became sort of reminiscent of the early days of their relationship when they were both exhilaratingly into each other and couldn’t leave each other alone for one second. Harry doesn't think he’d have stopped it even if he had been given the opportunity.

It’s not like they’re back to normal, they haven't  _ actually  _ rewound eight years, but it feels good. The overriding theme now seems to be casualness. There’s no routine or timetable that they keep to, no words per day that they have to exchange else they’ll explode. They chat when they want to and it never feels forced and it's never boring. It’s easy, light and there’s no pressure. That helps a lot.

That isn't to say Harry doesn’t find himself thinking about Louis almost constantly, because he does. He wonders, quite narcissistically, if Louis is feeling the same kinds of feelings about him too.

By the last week of July they’re talking on the phone several times a week and text each other every day; pinging off messages to each other when they see something that they find funny or reminds them of the other one.

August continues to be a scorcher like the end of July had been. Everything is easier, and Harry’s not convinced it’s only because of the nice weather. Getting up to go to work every day is easier because he’s slept better. Self-care is easier because it feels like there is a point to it again.

Marina has obviously noticed, because it’s a quiet Thursday in mid-August when she decides to broach the subject. She’s behind the counter, legs folded and tapping away on the laptop. Harry is just stood by the door thinking about picking something to rearrange next when he hears Marina stop typing. He looks over; she’s peering over the top of the lid with an expectant, cheeky smile.

“Harry love, can I ask you something? Strictly work-mum to work-son?”

Harry giggles, realising in a flash what is coming. He braces and nods. “Sure.”

“You’ve been a lot happier recently, we’ve all noticed. You look brighter, you’re not living off coffee anymore. It’s lovely to see.” Marina says, treading carefully.

Harry can’t help but notice that wasn't a question, though. “Yeah, things are… good, right now.”

“And... is this newly returned happiness boyfriend-shaped?”

“No,” He says with a chuckle, hoping her words don’t tempt fate. “But… it  _ might  _ be Louis-shaped?”

She beams, clasping her hands together and leaning back on the stool she’s perched so elegantly on. “Oh love, that’s fantastic!” Harry smiles again, thankfully. “I’m so happy you two are on the mend!”

“We’re only back to talking, like friends?”

“But…” Marina coaxes him, sensing that he wasn’t quite telling the entire story.

“But it’s going really well. We’re always texting and stuff.” Harry can feel his cheeks colouring.

“Such a modern day fairy tale!” Marina says with kind sarcasm, her exact sense of humour.

“We haven’t talked about… ‘us’ though. Yet.” Harry makes sure to reiterate. He doesn't want Marina jumping the gun on anything. “I’m trying not to freak out and mess anything up.”

“You won’t darling! You know this boy like the back of your hand and he knows you too. You won’t mess anything up.”

“I hope not,” Harry confesses, feeling a bit vulnerable all of a sudden.

“Will he move back in?”

“We  _ definitely  _ haven’t got that far yet, Ri.” Harry says, though his dreams have been such since they started talking again. “If he doesn’t, I’ll have to move out. I can’t afford to stay in that place on my own and I can’t expect him to pay two rents.”

Marina bows her head sympathetically. “I wish we could do more to help, but-”

“Oh no, I- I wasn’t implying anything!” Harry is quick to clarify. “I just… well, I’m hoping it won’t come to that but I know I have to be realistic. I’ve learned that much.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve got such a sensible head on those shoulders. You’ll be okay. You’ve got a huge family around you, including me and Alan and the girls, don’t be afraid to lean on anyone for support.”

“I will,” Harry says, and he could cry, honestly. “Thanks, Ri.”

“Always, darling.”

 

*

 

**Lou:** _Feel free to say no and I wouldn’t blame you if you did but do you fancy company later? Just to chat a bit, maybe? Im sick of the sight of these four walls and mums company. Let me know?_

**Lou:** _Sorry if that just made things weird._

**Lou:** _Reply ffs_

**Lou:** _ Shit, just ignore that. Pretend it never happened? Ok. _

Harry is trying to concentrate on work, he really is, but with those messages sitting at the top of his inbox, he’s having a hard time focussing at all. It’s the first time they’ve talked about meeting up since they started regular contact again - forty days ago, not that Harry’s counted. He can’t help but smile at his phone as Louis’ increasingly panicked texts come through. He fires off a quick response -  _ you doughnut, yes I would like to. Pick me up from work?  _ \- as his break is long since over, and rushes back out to the front as he hears the door go. His two o'clock consultation has arrived.

The young bride-to-be’s theme is Pastel Goth, apparently, and Harry does manage to sway her away from artificially dying flowers black, settling eventually on dark crimson and burnt orange dahlias with wild flowers and white peonies for a softer contrast, green and white trailing ivy accompanying the flowers.

Thankfully, Marina is up in the office doing whatever it is Marina does when Louis arrives. Thankful, because Harry hadn't mentioned that Louis was taking him out tonight. It’s not that Harry wants to keep it secret, of course, but he also doesn't want to end up with egg on his face again and have the whole world know about it.

Louis waits in the car, in the short stay car park across the street. Louis hasn't got out and payed and displayed for his stay, Harry knows this because he’s been watching. Reckless.

By two minutes past five, they’re face to face again. Harry’s heart is practically beating out of his chest and he has to remind himself that yes, he feels good right now but that past few months _ did  _ happen, and the pain  _ was  _ real.

As he’d ambled across the street towards the car, Louis had jumped out, still in his work stuff; His navy shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and he reaches up to fiddle with the ends of his fringe that curl around his ear three times in the minute that they’re stood there for.

“Hey,” Louis offers first, reminding Harry that he actually has to move and speak and interact now; he can’t just sit and stare at Louis all evening. “How’ve you been?”

It’s stilted, sure, and it doesn’t reflect the almost decade they’ve known each other, but it's progress. Harry nods. “Yeah, not bad. You?”

Louis nods too, and lets out an awkward laugh. “Yeah, okay. Shall we… car?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, walking around to the passenger side. Louis’ mark has been well and truly left on the car; the driver’s seat is pushed forward and reclined back, a bottle of Coke Zero (Louis had been forcing himself to enjoy Coke Zero for _ years  _ now) sits in the cup holder and several jackets and a pair of trainers are scattered over the back seat.

“So how was work?”

“Oh, you know… same old same old.” Louis says, Harry nods. “You?”

“Same, yeah.” Harry says, reaching around for his seatbelt; something to occupy his hands. Then they’re in silence again. Harry looks out the window, down at the pavement then back inside the car at the radio display. “Where are we going?” He grinning as he realises Louis hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Um, I hadn’t actually thought that far,” Louis confesses sheepishly, looking away. He’s gripping the steering wheel. “Sorry.”

“Do you want to go for a drink?” Harry suggests, hoping he’s not being too presumptive. Turns out, he needn’t have worried. Louis gives him a twisted expression.

“Better not, gotta drive home haven’t I?”

Harry referring to his Jay’s house as ‘home’ stings, though Harry knows he shouldn’t be surprised to hear it. Harry falters for a moment, and Louis must notice because his expression changes.

“Okay… do you want to go, uh-” Harry falters. He wants to ask Louis to come home. But he can’t call it home. He certainly doesn’t want to say ‘back to my house’.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Louis supplies, saving Harry from actually having to pick one from his shitty options. He sinks back and relaxes a bit as Louis drives them back towards home, the music playing softly from the radio keeping the silence between them from being  _ too  _ heavy.

 

*

 

“Just one beer?” Harry asks, peering into the barren fridge. He hopes Louis won’t judge him too hard for only having eggs, milk, beer and old Chinese takeaway in the fridge.

“Nah, I really better not.” Louis says. “Tea though?”

“Sure,” Harry nods blindly, thankful that Louis slips out of the door towards the living room, leaving him alone to get the kettle on. He flicks the switch, grabs two cups and unscrews the cap on the milk twice because his trembling hands missed the first time.

It’s amazing how crazy two cups of tea can make him after forty days. Harry doesn’t dare sit next to Louis when he returns with the drinks. The distance that he has intentionally put between them feels like an entire oceans width, and they both take it turns looking around the room, fiddling with whatever is closest and going to say something but then backing out at the last minute.

Eventually it’s Louis that breaks the awkward silence.

“I wanted to talk about something.”

Harry looks up, bracing automatically like a reflex. “O-okay.” He says, falteringly. “Go ahead.”

“I tried to do it over text, I know that might’a been easier but I thought I owed you a face-to-face explanation, right?” Louis pauses and Harry realises he’s supposed to respond. He makes a small noise but can’t offer more.

“I need to tell you I’m sorry and I need to know that you know that, okay? Things flew out of control and I wasn’t there to protect you when you needed it, which is what I always said I would do. I know I failed you, and I know I’m saying the word ‘know’ a lot and it’s starting to not make sense, but I had to tell you. To make sure you knew. I’m sorry for all the times I wasn’t there when you needed me. Not just now, but always.”

Somewhere during Louis’ spiel Harry had closed his eyes and bowed his head. He can feel himself teetering on the edge of his emotions and he knows that if he tries to move or look up at Louis he’ll break down, so he keeps his head burrowed and waits.

“I gave almost all of my twenties to you, Harry.” Louis continues. “I’m terrified that you think I regret it. But i don’t. Okay? I don’t regret a second of it. Yes, there are things,  _ so  _ many things I wish we’d done differently, but as a whole,” He gestures with his hands, Harry can sense that even with his eyes closed. “you gave me everything I ever wanted and you were so, so good for me.”

Harry nods. He doesn’t trust himself to try anything more vocal, and he can’t help but amplify all the past tenses in his head;  _ ’gave’, ‘wanted’, ‘were’. _

“As much as I loved you, you actually deserve so much more than a dickhead like me. You deserve the world and the moon and the stars and more.”

“That’s what I had with you.”

“Is it?” Louis asks, and he doesn’t look convinced. Harry can feel panic settling in under his skin. “I was never enough for you, I know that. I never wanted to admit that, because I didn't want it to become true. Sometimes I still to this day can’t believe you ever gave me a chance.”

“You give me stars in my eyes.” Harry says feebly, eyes still clamped shut. He hears Louis sniff softly.

“You’ve always been starry eyed, I was just the first person to notice.”

Harry opens his eyes and the tears that had been hot behind his lids pool into his line of vision. He wipes at his eyes furiously and he sees Louis shift. “Where we went wrong, we were both to blame.”

“Probably, yeah.” Louis agrees after a beat.

“Have you come here to end it?” Harry whispers, the words hurting him as they leave his throat. “Is that what this is?”

Louis continues to stare blankly. Harry’s not sure even Louis knows if this is it or not; whether or not he’d come here with intentions to break things off completely. Harry wonders what Louis is going to say, if anything. “You’re still my Starry Eyed boy.”

Harry wasn't banking on that, and he laughs. Not because he’s humoured but because he’s dying. He runs his hands through his hair and repeats, “Is it over?”

“Harry…” Louis starts. He reaches into his hair, running his fingers through the strands, sending them in all directions. He doesn’t finish his sentence, just leaves it suspended there in the air between them, like the stars in Harry’s eyes.

“Because I love you, more than anything in the world. Despite everything. The last few months have been shit, Lou.”

Louis’ eyes shimmer too. Harry looks at him, his lips taut as he tries to subdue himself. He can see Louis’ hands clasped in his lap, knuckles white and trembling.

That’s all it takes to convince Harry to get up. He crosses the room in just a few bounds; sinks down next to Louis and unclenches his fists. He forces Louis’ right hand to flatten out and he laces his fingers between Louis’, gripping to show him that he’s here and he’s laying himself out bare.

“Lou? I love you. I have done since day one. Fuck, I’m not embarrassed to admit that. I was gone for you so early. You know that, you must know that. I’ve told you a million times in eight years, I must've done. It’;s all true. It;’s still true.”

The other man’s fingers press into his palm and it feels like reassurance. He swallows thickly. “Lou? Lou, I love you. Say you love me too?”

Louis drops his gaze abruptly, pressing his chin right down to his chest and letting out a ragged breath that isn’t a sigh or anger but more like floodgates opening.

“For fuck sake, Harry,” Louis mutters into his chest, then he looks up. “‘Course I love you. Fuck, I’ve loved you since the very minute I saw you too; all... big hair and skinny legs.”

“We’ll work on it, right? We’ll get better.” Harry repeats, adrenaline fuelling him and he struggles to keep a grasp on Louis. “Please, if that’s what you want too, please tell me we can do it? Please Lou?”

“We need to fix us, right?” Louis says after an agonising pause where they just hold eye contact. Harry can see the blue of Louis’ eyes pale and glassy. “I’m not… I’m not going through this again, and you’re not either. I won’t let that happen.”

“I know, I agree. Yes.”

“Harry, don’t be- you can't just agree for the sake of agreeing. That won’t help.”

"I'm not, okay? I wanna do this together, make this work. We'll take it slow."

"Let’s see how it goes, okay?" Louis says again. It isn’t the startling confession of reconciled love that Harry might've hoped for, but he reminds himself that at least it’s a start.

"Fine, just... one thing?" Harry says, feeling sheepish. Louis looks up, over at him.

"What?" he asks softly, quizzically.

“Can… can I- can I just have a hug? Please. I’ve missed it so much.”

For a horrible moment Harry thinks Louis is going to say no. But then he smiles with fond reluctance and let’s go of Harry’s hand. He pushes himself up off the sofa with his hands on his legs and Harry rises as Louis steps into him, holding his arm out.

Harry steps in and Louis’ hand slinks around his side. The contact is overwhelming in a way that takes his breath away. He feels Louis pull him in, their bodies moving closer, and he rocks onto his tiptoes slightly to reach up and wrap his arms around Harry.

Louis brings his arms up and around, his head rests on Harry's chest with cheekbone pressed to collarbone. Harry can feel the tremble creep into his own limbs as he positions one around Louis' lithe shoulders and leaves the other nestled along the inward curve of his lower back.

He gently works his fingertips in tiny circles into Louis' back, trying to catalogue the feeling so he can remember it later on when he's alone again.

"Do you really have to leave tonight?” Harry asks, not opening his eyes or lifting his head up. He wants to stay close enough to smell Louis' hair and the fabric softener on his clothes.

“Yeah I do.”

“I don’t mean, stay in  _ that  _ way, just… be here. Tonight.” Harry says, squeezing his arms around Louis tighter for a pulse. “It’s such a long drive and it's late, why don’t you just stay?”

“I can’t, I’ve got none of my work stuff.”

“Wear this again.”

Louis chuckles and they break apart. “You have an answer for everything don’t you, Styles?”

“Of course I do, you know that.”

“I want to stay, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. You did say we shouldn’t rush things. Plus, mum’ll kill me if I don’t come back without a decent explanation.”

Now their hug has fallen apart, Louis begins to make moves to leave again and Harry prepares to watch him go. It feels counterproductive to let Louis go when just a moment ago he felt like he was starting to get just the tiniest part of him back, but he has to.

“Get home safe, okay? Let me know you get home."

"I will," Louis says from the kerb. They’ve been delaying each other at the door step for a good few minutes; making it from the hallway to the doorstep to the pavement right outside, slowly nearer to the car, and they're still chatting.

"I’ll try and see you soon, okay? If you like?"

"Yeah," Harry calls back as Louis finally turns and makes his way to the car. Harry watches as he central unlocks it, climbs in the drivers’ side and clicks the engine into life. Headlights shine down the street; golden beams stretching out in the milky blue air of the late evening.

Harry thinks that if his life was a film, they’d be playing ‘ [ Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nxQLJmshak) ’ right now.

 

*

 

A week later, and large gaps between customers has helped no end in keeping Harry’s text conversation with Louis going. He can picture Louis at his desk, spinning on his office chair and texting under the desk.

It really is like being back at the start of their relationship.

_ You're supposed to be working Mr........ _

**Lou:** _I could same the same for you, Styles._

_ Ah touché. I won’t say anything if you don’t _

**Lou:** _ Are you propositioning me?? _

_ I dunno. Am i? _

How Harry is supposed to be able to find time to work when he's got Louis texting him all day is beyond him. He doesn’t have to explain himself to Marina because she's working from home. In fact, he doesn’t have to answer to  _ anyone  _ really because he's in the shop alone.

_ Sooo bored. Still two hours and thirty seven minutes to goooooo :( _

**Lou:** _You could try doing some work?_

_ Oi cheeky git, i am working! _

**Lou:** _In between texting me?_

_ In between texting you, yes. _

Harry has to laugh; glad that there is no one around to question him. He puts his phone down for a moment, leaps off the stool he’s been sat cross legged on for the past twenty minutes, and busies himself rearranging the decorative wraps and ribbons.

With an eight minute gap between messages, Harry texts Louis back.

_ There you go. I just did some work. Straightening the ribbons and refilling the plastic wrap _

**Lou:** _Oooh impressive. Now two hours and twenty nine minutes to go._

Even though it had felt, at times, like the day was never going to end, it does eventually. Harry spends a few minutes out the front looking to see if, by some divine miracle, Louis has turned up to whisk him away from the humdrum of monotony, but no such luck. The walk home requires no effort, making something for dinner requires no effort, and falling asleep on the phone to Louis requires a negative amount of effort; it’s something that comes so easily to Harry, it’s as if Louis is lying next to him in their bed, instead of an hour away.

The weekend exists of a long overdue visit to his mum and Robin. Anne is so permanently pleased to have Harry around; she pulls him through the door with open arms. Whether or not she notices he hasn’t arrived in the car is another matter. “Your hair’s getting long again! You look so well! How is everything?”

“Good,” Harry nods with a little shrug. “Much better actually.”

“That’s great. What’s… what’s the latest?” Anne asks.

“Been quite busy with work. There are two more wedding fayres coming up, the second weekend in September. So that’ll be… fun.”

Anne laughs. “It’s nice to get out of the office. Well, the shop, should I say.”

“Yeah, I guess. Be better than the last ones were, I guess.” Harry mumbles, and Anne doesn’t ask him to elaborate which he’s thankful for. He could barely function as a human being back in April when he last attended a wedding fayre. At least this time, unless things take a nosedive in the next eight days, he won’t be nursing a broken heart while trying to sell frankly overpriced flower packages to brides and grooms to be.

They talk endlessly about what she and Robin have been up to, about a new Harvester restaurant that’s opened up close by that looks lovely but isn’t really up to much food-wise, how Gemma and Andy are and what the latest development is with little Frankie. Robin brings in fresh tea and Harry decides now is a good a time as any to broach the subject.

“So I haven’t got the car at the minute,” Harry says, going for intriguing and quizzical, and probably coming across confusing and strange. “Not sure if you noticed.”

Robin, who is just on his way back to his arm chair, peers out of the net curtain and makes a noise. “Oh yeah. No car.”

“What do you mean you haven’t got the car, where is it? How did you get here?” Anne asks.

“Umm… Lou’s got it?”

Anne’s expression changes and she looks like she is trying not to smile. She rolls her eyes and gives him a look. “And are you asking me or telling me, Harry?”

“Telling you?” Harry says tentatively.

“I feel like I’m missing something here, love. What’s going on?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “We’re gonna try again, mum.” Anne breaks into a broad grin, the same one he’d inherited from her, and she smiles broadly, clasping her hands together and he knows it’s okay. “It’s not… we’re not in the clear yet, but we’re getting there day by day.”

Harry brings her up to speed on everything: where Louis is staying and why he needs the car, their agreements re their money and their tentative plans for the future. His mum is a little more sensible than perhaps Liam or Niall, and once her initial happiness for them has died down she makes him go over and  _ over  _ the practical, realistic side. Harry doesn’t want to hear things like ‘you broke up for a reason, don’t get back together just for the sake of it’ or ‘me and Robin can help you financially if you need to move out of your house’.

“I know you’re not a child anymore Harry, about to be twenty eight, my God, but you’ll always be my little boy and I love you and want the best for you. I don’t want to see you hurt again, that last time almost killed me. You know I love Louis so much, I really do, but I love you most and I want you to be happy.”

“With him or without him?”

“Yes, darling. You know I wouldn’t stand in between you and your happiness, but it has to be  _ your  _ happiness, not anybody else’s, or not just something you stick with because you’re scared of change.”

Harry mulls this over for a minute, contemplating his mum’s words.

“I don’t want to upset you sweetheart.”

Harry focusses on the screen at his mum. She looks concerned and worried and he just wishes he could hug her. Reach out and cuddle her kind, loving body and smell her lovely hair and just spend time with her. “Can I have a cuddle, please?”

“Of course, baby,” She holds her arms out and Harry shuffles along, tucks into her side and rests his head in the crook of her shoulder. She soothes him with a hand up and down his arm. “No matter what, I will support you okay. Always have and always will.”

“Thanks, mum.” He mumbles, not lifting his head. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Harry.”

 

*

 

The rest of the week is long, each day dragging by. It continues to be hot; the black jeans he forces himself into every day for work are tight and hot and his legs are blotchy and covered in track lines from the inseam every evening when he peels them off to get in the shower.

He’s disappointed when it gets to the end of the week and he hasn’t had an invitation from Louis to meet up, but in view of the half-formed ideas he’d been having to try and start spending portions of his time with someone  _ other  _ than Louis, to prove he isn’t completely dependent on him, he texts Liam.

As soon as he had started thinking about seeing Liam, it had become all he could think about. He’d waited all day for a reply and he’s already on the bus on the way home when it comes. The heavens opened at about three o'clock and haven’t closed since. His hoodie has been of little benefit and his jeans now stick to his legs, creating quite the opposite problem to what he’d previously been experiencing.

He’s drenched all over and he can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. He hopes the poor thing hasn’t drowned with the unprecedented bad weather; he’s already killed one phone by catapulting it; he doesn’t want another death on his hands.

**Leemo:** _Yea bud, I’m here. Come round anytime xx_

By the time Harry gets home it’s been dry for twenty minutes and he holds out hope that it will stay dry on his journey to the Payne’s. He changes into a fresh pair of indigo skinnies and chucks the rain soaked clothes down by the washing machine. He runs a towel through his hair and then rakes back the damp tresses with his fingers. Who cares what he looks like; it’s only Liam and Sophia.

The rain does hold out, miraculously, and the pavements give off a lovely sweet aroma where they’ve been drenched and then baked with early evening sun. It’s always blown Harry’s mind how many different weather spells England can experience in just one day. Then he has  [ Four Seasons in One Day ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJZ_AKoMVtM) in his head the rest of the way. 

 

*

 

He knocks down Liam’s door a bit lively; the noise echoing through the still and silent suburban air around him. Liam doesn’t scamper to the door like an excitable puppy as Harry was expecting, and he stands there looking perplexed when Liam arrives at the door – eventually – looking almost surprised to see him.

“Hiya mate, y’alright?” Liam asks, not smiling until after he’s spoken, almost like an afterthought.

Harry’s eyes narrow and he looks at Liam, a bit puzzled. “Yeah…” Pause. “You?”

Liam nods and his eyes seem to clear a bit. “Yeah, so what can I do for you? Not often you come a-knocking.”

“Can uh, can I come in? Just for a sec? Sorry, I know it’s like, slap bang in the middle of tea time, but...”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Liam steps aside and Harry steps in. It’s always so warm and inviting here. He can smell what is probably lasagne or spaghetti Bolognese. No sign of Sophia. “We’ve just had tea. Soph’s getting in the bath. She has to relax, that’s what- I mean, busy day, y’know? Long day.”

Harry nods pensively. He follows Liam into the living room and spies two dinner plates – spaghetti not lasagne - on the coffee table, one barely touched and the other much the same. There’s a bottle of Corona open at one end and a pint glass of what could be vodka but is probably water.

“Sorry, I haven’t tidied the plates away yet.”

“Liam, these are barely touched.”

Liam looks down at the plates and then up at Harry and just shrugs, his eyes a bit blank like he doesn’t even know what Harry is talking about.

Harry shakes his head. It suddenly feels very atmospheric, and not in a good way. “Are you all right? You seem a bit… off?”

Liam stares back at him, absent still, his meagre nod unconvincing at best. “I’m fine, yeah.”

Liam isn’t being overly obvious, but Harry can sense his unnaturally relaxed movements. He shuffles back on the sofa and tips his head back; sighing up at the ceiling like it’s offending him. Looking back up, he tries a smile that, again, is an unconvincing effort. Awkwardly, he goes to maybe make a joke or comment on something but instead what comes out is a pained, unrecognisable noise. Flushing with embarrassment, he laughs uncontrollably. “Jesus, I’m sorry! God, what’s wrong with me?”

“Li?” Harry asks, an unpleasant grip of nausea coiling in his stomach. He scoots to the edge of the sofa, eyes narrowing. “Li, what’s going on?”

“Oh nothing, just… just tired, y’know?” Liam tries to fob him off, waving a hand.

“Liam,” Harry says sternly, getting up automatically and walking around the coffee table anti-clockwise. He settles on the edge of the sofa next to Liam, their knees clunking together awkwardly. He’s too tall for such low sofas. “You’re a shite liar, mate.”

Liam gives him a weak, watery smile; not a happy smile. “I uh…” He laughs wetly, but again, there is no humour to it. “We, God, we- Soph was pregnant. But… but we-”

“No, no, no, no, no!” Harry repeats under his breath, drawing a knee up and bringing his hands up to his face as if  _ he’s  _ the one that needs protecting from what he  _ knows  _ Liam is going to say next.

“Yes,” Liam says under his breath, inhaling sharply and trying and failing miserably to hold back his emotions. Harry lunges at Liam and drapes himself over his friend whether he wants it or not. Liam falters a bit and Harry feels his shoulders quake. “Again. It happened again. It keeps happening.”

Liam doesn’t hug him back, just stays cocooned inside Harry’s arms and Harry feels the responsibility to keep this perfect human being safe from the world for at least these next few moments, even if he can’t protect Liam from the obvious anguish he and Sophia have been through.

After a moment he feels Liam stir, and he releases him slowly. Liam laughs again nervously, like he’s embarrassed. “Li, you don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s okay to cry, y’know. God knows you’ve seen me cry enough times before.”

Liam nods with a distant smile. “Sorry we never told you. Or anyone. It just… it would’ve made it real, y’know?”

Harry nods. He knows from his own turmoil just how true that mindset feels when you’re in the thick of things.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I’m sorry I was too busy with my own shit.” Harry says quietly, looking down at his knee. “You can always talk to me, y’know? I’m always listening. And Lou, I know- I know he’d be here for you two in a heartbeat.”

Liam nods. They share some silence; nothing but the gush of hot water running through the pipework. Harry pictures Sophia up there on her own; he can’t imagine what she must feel inside right now.

“Soph came off the pill five years ago.” Liam says suddenly, speaking slowly. “We haven’t used anything since then, not once, but nothing was happening. At one point we sort of… gave up. We stopped trying so hard; ovulation kits and planning sex around the two or three most fertile days in the month was draining, y’know? Took all the fun out of it.”

Liam chuckles lightly and Harry smiles sadly.

“Then, out of nowhere, Soph tells me one night she’s two days late. I tell you, we almost fell over ourselves to get upstairs and do a test – she’s got millions in the bathroom cupboard, honestly.”

Harry smiles again as Liam briefly pauses.

“It was positive, ah bloody hell, we we’re so chuffed! It had taken so long though, we thought we’d keep it quiet for a bit. We got an early scan, one of those internal ones-”

He pauses again to pull a grimacing face.

“But they… they couldn’t find a heartbeat. Afterwards, they told us the baby died at about seven weeks along. No bigger than a grain of salt, I bet.”

“Poor little thing,” Harry muses quietly, absently. Liam nods.

“Yeah. It was… it was like, how can you miss what you never had? But we did. We do.”

“When- when was this?” Harry asks cautiously.

“October, last year.” Liam says. “Just before we went to Tenerife. I booked that holiday for Soph after it all, y’know. Get away from it all. We talked about telling you guys but… then it happened again.”

Harry shakes his head; not so much I disbelief just in pure sorrow.

“Same deal; we tried to stop paying too much attention to dates and fertile windows and all the crap. Last month, just after the Easter Bank Holiday, Soph was late again. We tested and, man, it was such a strong line. Positive almost immediately. We had really high hopes. Got the early scan again, all was good. We had the twelve week scan this Tuesday just gone. Everything between getting the positive and the first scan had been fine, we thought it might be… might be okay? But, we got there and Soph laid there for ages with that… scanner thing on her belly, them looking for the baby. But no. It wasn’t there. Just the sac, they called it. No heartbeat.”

“Oh God, Li…” Harry mumbles, completely numb himself.

“They told us the baby had died at about nine weeks along this time. There was just… nothing. No life.”

“That’s horrible.”

“They used the word ‘succumbed’, like, how awful is that word? It sounds horrible, this poor little thing  _ ’succumbed’  _ .”

“I’m so sorry, Li.”

Liam shrugs, trying to keep himself together. “It wasn’t your fault, Haz.”

Harry knows it wasn’t him that caused the losses but he should’ve been there for Sophia and Liam, been more observant. He’s always prided himself on his observation skills, picking up what others try to mask, but apparently he doesn’t know himself as well as he thought he did.

“There’s nothing anyone could’ve done.” Liam says flatly. “It just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Will you get tested? Find out why it keeps happening?”

“We could do but only if it happens again,” Liam says and Harry pulls a horrified face. “We’d be classed as a recurrent miscarriage couple then and they’d do all sorts of tests and blood work and stuff to investigate us, if we wanted.”

That makes Harry feel sick. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to keep saying that mate.”

“I… how’s Soph?”

Liam makes a face and that’s all Harry needs to know really.

“She’ll come round. She always bounces back, bless her.”

Harry nods. She is resilient; even more so than Harry once thought.

“Shit, Christ, I’m sorry.” Liam makes an awful guttural noise and rinses his hands over his face. “I didn’t mean to unload all of this on you, you uh, what’s going on with you? You came round for a reason after all, not to sit and watch me cry an’ get all snotty. I haven’t even asked if you’re okay.”

Harry finds Liam unbelievable sometimes, how unselfish and patient he is. It’s a cruel, ironic shame because he’d make the most fantastic father, Harry is sure of it.

“Oh, uh, well, God it feels wrong to even bring this up now. Don’t worry for now.”

“Not at all,” Liam says with an almighty sniff. “ _ Please,  _ I want to know. What’s it about? Shall I guess?”

“No it’s okay,” Harry says, his voice giving up on him a little bit. Jesus, this boy is like the brother Harry always wanted and he loves him. “I’ll just tell you.”

“Okay,” Liam nods, looking at him quizzically and almost excitedly. Harry wonders if he knows what’s coming.

“Lou and I are giving it another go.”

“You’re back together?”

“Sort of,” Harry says with a little shoulder wiggle. “We’ve been talking for the last few weeks, a lot, and he came over on Thursday. I think we’re going to work things out slowly; take each day as it comes.”

“Mate,” Liam says with a squinty-eyed smile. “That’s great, honestly. I’m chuffed for you both.”

“It feels wrong to even be talking about it now. I’m sorry I came barging in here. I wasn’t expecting… well, y’know.”

“Honestly, Harry, stop apologising. It’s not your fault. C’mere, bring it in!”

Liam gets up and pulls him up by his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him tight. Liam has always given the best cuddles, even better than Louis’ because he’s broad and big like a bear. Liam slaps his back gently.

“Hi Harry,” A small female voice comes from behind him.

Liam releases him with a small laugh and Harry turns to see Sophia in the doorway, soft hair cascading around her shoulders and dressed in a pale pink fluffy dressing gown.

“Soph!” He beams, happy to see her but also heartbroken for the slim, slight woman standing before him looking younger and sadder than he’s ever seen her before. She offers him a weak smile, closing her eyes for a moment and when they open again they’re watery and the whites are pink.

Harry steps across the room and goes straight for a hug. Sophia unfolds her arms from across her tiny body and reaches out for him too, both of them giving in to their emotions and bursting into tears on each other’s shoulders. Harry holds her as tight as he can, feeling her grip the back of his t-shirt in both hands like she’s clinging on for life.

“I’m so, so sorry Soapy,” He soothes, picking her nickname to try and pick her up a bit. He can still feel the tension and the upset in her shoulders and the way she carries herself slightly stiffly like she’s got a trapped nerve in her neck and can’t move properly.

“Thanks, love,” She whispers against his chest, trembling in his arms for a good few seconds before pulling herself away and looking up at him with the same embarrassed smile Liam had, like she too is ashamed of getting upset.

“You’ll be okay,” Harry promises her. “I can’t pretend I know what it’s like to lose a child but I am here for you as best I can be, okay?”

“Thank you,” She says again, wiping her cheek against her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry says breezily, hoping Liam doesn’t bring up the Louis thing, but he does. Good old Liam.

“Haz’s got some good news.” Liam says behind them, and Sophia breaks into a genuine smile. Harry lets go of her and steps back, feeling embarrassed too but trying not to smile.

“Really? What is it?”

“Tell her, mate.”

“No, it’s stupid…” He mumbles, looking down at the carpet.

“No it isn’t, tell her. She’ll be chuffed.”

Liam ends up blabbing because Harry is too bashful. Sophia’s eyes widen when she hears and she pulls him into another hug, repeating how happy she is for them.

Not feeling quite as he had expected he would when he arrived, Harry leaves Sophia and Liam’s with those awful words Liam had used spinning around in his mind. He pictures the alternative reality they could be living now; a new little member of their group. Maybe a little boy with Sophia’s dark hair or a little girl with Liam’s kind eyes.

But no; the universe had other plans for those little lives.

He’s worked himself up into knots agonising over it by the time he gets home, and with Elvis on his tummy purring and a packet of biscuits, he calls the only person he feels he can talk to about this.

“Harry!” Anne answers, sounding happy. “Twice in one week, to what do I owe the pleasure, love?”

“Hi mum, I just… I just found something out and I need to talk. I don’t- I don’t know how to feel.”

“What’s happened?” Anne asks, voice immediately drawing in and tensing.

Harry pushes the hair back out of his eyes. “It’s Liam and Soph.”

“Oh,” Anne says firstly, obviously relieved, and then… “Oh no, please don’t say-”

“No, they’re still together, they’re okay. Well, they’re not. They… God, I can’t even say it.”

“Is one of them ill?” Anne asks, her voice turning dark with concern. “Please God, no.”

“No. They had a miscarriage, mum.  _ Two  _ , in fact, and I didn’t know. I didn’t even notice my best friends were hurting and losing their babies because I was too worried about myself.”

“Oh no, the poor loves; that’s awful news.”

“How could I have got it so wrong, mum?” Harry asks down the phone. “I just thought… I thought they were just plodding along, doing nothing, just happy to be going nowhere together; the world’s most boring couple. But they were going through so much. Alone, too.”

“Harry, all you can do is be there for Liam and Sophia now. Support them and let them know they’re not on their own. Offer them a safe place to talk whenever they need it and space when they don’t. You can’t be blamed for what they chose to keep private; that was their choice and their right.”

“I was so caught up in my own life, everything with me and Lou that I wasn’t there for my friends.”

“Sweetheart, you were dealing with your own demons, and you didn’t know. You can’t be blamed and I’m sure they don’t blame you either.”

Harry shrugs. He doesn’t feel absolved with his mum’s words, because he’s not a child anymore. Anything that happened could be made better by a cuddle and a chat with mum as a kid, but it didn’t work that way as an adult. They talk for a bit longer but then Harry notices her stifle a yawn behind her hand so he lets her go, realising it’s now almost eleven o'clock.

 

*

 

Saturday night is certainly….  _ interesting. _

Harry feels an itching jealousy like nothing he has ever experienced before when Louis texts him just before seven to tell him he’s going out for a beer with Lottie’s boyfriend and step-dad. The contact peters out throughout the evening and Harry lights up to stop himself going insane. It takes the edge off his misplaced unease and by the time his phone is illuminated with Louis’ name calling at 00:46, he’s a sated, blurry match to Louis’ drunken frustration.

Harry is ashamed how long it takes him to realise what Louis is doing as they talk.

“Are- are you…”

“Shhh,” Louis says, making the line jump with static. “Don’t… I’m sorry okay, I just…”

“Fucking hell, Lou.” Harry presses the phone to his chest and exhales deeply, raggedly.

When he places it back to his ear, he can hear Louis’ breathlessness that he hadn’t noticed before. There is a rustle and movement at Louis’ end and when Louis lets out the slightest little gasp Harry has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from crying out too. He has no time to think about whether this would be happening if they were both sober, because neither of them are sober but it  _ definitely  _ is happening now.

“Talk to me,” Louis whines, voice softer and gentler than Harry has heard it for a long while. “Anything, say anything, please.”

“Fuck, are you touching yourself?”

Louis makes a terse, rushed noise of confirmation and his laboured breaths return. Harry subconsciously tenses the muscles in his lower abdomen and his cock strains against his shorts, nudging up against the taut fabric. The further he parts his knees, the firmer the fabric becomes and the more traction he can get from his mini thrusts.

“Shit, I wish you were here now.” Harry says, tensing his muscles hard and pressing the flat of his palm against the fabric of his shorts, overcome by the contact. “I’d take care of you.”

“Touch yourself too.” Louis orders him breathlessly,

“Already am,” Harry confirms, and the noise Louis makes is almost enough to send Harry over the edge by itself. With the phone lodged between his ear and his shoulder, Harry reaches down, lifts his bum up and shucks his shorts down his thighs.

He’s hard enough to just go straight to full on wanking. He wraps his hand around and begins to move, languidly at first because he doesn’t want to admit he’s actually doing this –  _ they’re  _ actually doing this.

“Fuck, c’mon, Harry talk to me, get me-” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He breathes harder than before and Harry just needs to picture Louis at the other end to get himself to where he wants to be.

“Lou, you look so good like this,” Harry tells him, even though they can’t see each other but that’s neither here nor there. “I wanna touch you, get my hands on you. I can do it for you, baby.”

Louis doesn’t respond, at least not verbally.

“It’s me, my hands all over you. Feel good?”

Louis blurts out a positive noise. “Shit, yes, oh God. Feels so, _ so  _ good.”

Harry closes his eyes, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to try and regain some control of the situation. He lets out whimpering noises as he quickens his rhythm around himself. He can feel it pooling behind his belly button, feels the heat starting to escalate and he knows it’s not far away now.

“I’m close,” Harry tells him, wishing he could draw the build-up out a bit more but also unwilling to slow his pace down.

”Me too,” Louis breathes. “Make me come, Harry.”

“Shit, c’mon baby, come for me, you’re so hard an’ you look so good, so fucking good. Come, Lou, come on.”

He hears Louis’ breathing reach a crescendo and then a garbled whimper and Harry goes blank as he starts to come too, the accumulation of feelings in the last few minutes culminating in that hot, tight, blinding feeling. He splatters over his tummy and into his fist, letting out several ragged breaths as he goes. Everything is brilliant white behind his eyes and all he can hear is ringing in his ears that starts to clear as his breathing slows down and the come on his belly starts to cool in the air.

He tunes back in to Louis on the other end, similarly spent and trying to catch his breath. Neither of them says anything for a while, as their breathing returns to normal and things begin to get sticky.

“Th-thanks,” Louis says eventually, sounding sheepish and decidedly hoarser than before. “That was… I’m sorry I-”

“It’s okay,” Harry says, heart instantly dropping. An apology isn’t quite the desired response after what they’ve just done. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I should go t’bed.” Louis says, sounding rushed and not in the same way he was a few moments ago. “Tired, I am. Speak to you later?”

“Okay,” Harry agrees reluctantly. “Sleep well.”

“You too.” Louis replies after a beat, the silence amplified and echoic in Harry’s ears, then he’s gone.

 

*

 

Harry doesn’t hear from Louis at all throughout Sunday daytime; he suspects it’s probably a hangover but he can’t help but fear that the humiliation and self-disgust at what they’d done last night has caught up with Louis and he’s now avoiding him.

Harry wakes up disgusting; long overdue a shower. He thinks about things in the shower, a great place for contemplation, and decides that last night was good and he shouldn’t feel guilty about it. How Louis will react next time they talk is another matter though.

Elvis is no company and a trip to the corner shop for fags and a microwave cheeseburger kills all of twenty minutes.

It’s almost eight and their corner of the Earth is just starting to think about getting dark when his phone starts to glow with Louis’ name.

“Hi,” He says sheepishly when Harry answers. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You?”

“Hmmm,” Louis sighs unconvincingly; Harry can practically hear his grimacing smile. “That bloke I’m entrusting my sister to certainly can drink.”

“You’re dangerously close to sounding like an old man, Lou.”

“I  _ am  _ an old man!” Louis declares. “I didn’t think there was much difference between twenty four and thirty but I was wrong.”

Harry laughs and he hears Louis loosen up a bit.  _ “Almost  _ thirty.”

“Meh,” Louis shrugs. “I can’t remember being that bad when I was younger.”

“We were smashed out of our faces the first night we met, Lou.” Harry points out, hoping alluding to their shared past won’t make things weird.

“Well, that must’ve been a one off.” Louis says breezily with a giggle. It most certainly was  _ not  _ a one off. “How was your Sunday? Better than mine I take it?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, assuming they’re not going to talk about last night now. “Quiet though. Lonely.”

“Ah, poor love.” Louis says, and he’s being sarcastic but Harry savours the words. “You do have other friends, y’know.”

“I know,” Harry says, thinking about Liam and Sophia and the heavy going visit. “I know, I just…”  _ I miss my best friend,  _ he wants to say.

“It’s me you miss, is it?” Louis supplies, as if reading his mind, and again Harry is sure Louis is going for light-hearted joking but he’s actually right on the mark.

“Of course,” Harry says, trying to sound calm though he’s sure every intonation in his voice gives him away.

“We could do something next weekend, if you like?”

“I would like, yes,” Harry confirms quickly, not even caring if he sounds over-zealous. “What shall we do?”

“I dunno, something different, eh?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno… have a think about it, pick something fun and whatever it is we’ll do it.”

“Okay,” Harry nods, bending his leg at the knee and pressing his foot against his opposing shin. “No pressure then!”

“Nope, none at all!”

 

*

 

Knowing that at the weekend he’ll be spending time with Louis is the only thing that keeps Harry afloat all week. The reminder pulls him closer and closer to Friday, and every plain, boring day that passes is just another check of the tick sheet gone.

He initially checks in with both Sophia and Liam via text every day; Saturday, Sunday and Monday, and then after that leaves it until Wednesday, then checks in again early on Saturday morning. He’s up early, obviously, because today is the big day.

He wakes to Elvis’ tail tickling his forehead. He blinks away sleep and peers at the docile old git laying there curled up on Louis’ pillows.

“Get off you old Moggy, that’s dad’s pillow!” Elvis simply stares back at him and then looks away, not budging.

Harry sends his messages, stretches in bed and then scoops Elvis up as he gets out of bed, stumbling on wobbly legs until they’ve woken up too. He goes about his morning routine, a bit closer than usual, because he’s just bloody nervous and excited now. He’s tried not to overthink this, but it turns out he can’t.

He makes the most of his early start and changes the bed covers (not that he’s being presumptuous), showers and shaves (not that there is much to remove) and pours Elvis’ favourite posh cat food into his bowl (and then spends half an hour cuddling him).

The boxes and bags with Louis’ stuff in throws him for a moment when he opens the wardrobe door to look for something season-appropriate to wear. He pauses; struck by the inanimate object sitting there looking up at him. It’s the old box that the baby gym they’d brought for Lottie came in, and it’s bursting at the seams; thrust on top of it is an old Nike holdall with more things in that Harry hadn’t been able to face.

He runs his socked toe along the edge of the box, wondering for a moment whether he should put the stuff back. He considers it, picturing the football paraphernalia and photos being back in their rightful places. He remembers taking it all down in a blind panicky rage. He’d sort of got used to all the empty spaces in the house now - not accepting of them, but used to them.

 

*

 

Louis, unsurprisingly, is almost half an hour late, and Harry is perched on the front step with his knees under his chin finishing off a cigarette as Louis swings the car into their parking space.

“Those things’ll kill you, y’know?” Louis asks with a mischievous grin as he cuts the engine and jumps out, making his way over to Harry. Harry hauls himself to his feet and stands on the step. Louis is looking at him funny, and it makes him go immediately mushy.

“What?” He asks, trying to look playfully suspicious and not outright enamoured. Stood on the step, Harry is another couple of inches taller than him and he doesn’t look amused but Harry loves it.

“Nothin’, was just thinking of giving you a kiss but if you’re all the way up there on the step, I won’t bother.”

“What, really?” Harry can’t help his surprise. Feeling his heart do a somersault, Harry steps off the porch and lets Louis take his place.

“Yes, I had planned on it.”

They’re on almost exactly the same level now, perfect, and Louis leans in to kiss him. His nose presses against Louis’ to the right, the other man going to the left. He hasn’t shaved for perhaps a week, and it prickles against his own sensitive, smooth skin. It’s a very quick, succinct kiss that leaves Harry biting the insides of his cheeks to try and suppress his grin as Louis pulls away.

“Mmm, smoky,” Louis murmurs against his lips.

“Oh stop!” Harry mutters, rolling his eyes heavenwards and pushing Louis away softly.

“So where are we going?” Louis asks as they head back over to the car, Louis heading straight for the passenger side. “You’re driving, by the way.”

“I got that,” Harry mumbles as he catches the keys Louis tosses over the roof of the car. “It’s a surprise.”

“How long is the journey?”

“Half an hour.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Harry.”

“Oh come on! Who are you to talk about timekeeping; you were half an hour late getting here!”

“All right, whatever! Just wake me up when we get there please.” He says, shuffling down and tipping his head back, eyes closed.

 

*

 

“Strawberry picking?”

Louis, who had been sitting dramatically with his hoodie over his face for most of the journey but not actually asleep, drags it down and stares at the signs before them and then back at Harry.

“Are you serious? This is where you’ve brought me?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies. “Something different, isn’t it? Something we’ve never done before. Like the brief said.”

“Something  _ no-one  _ our age has done before.” Louis mumbles as he undoes his seatbelt and stifles a yawn. “I can’t… well actually I can believe you. I was gonna say I can’t but I can. This is so…  _ you  _ .”

“l’ll take that as a compliment, whether it was intended as one or not.” Harry says, smiling confidently. He wanted somewhere completely out of the ordinary; something memorable.

Louis rolls his eyes and then won’t make eye contact, but he mutters under his breath ‘good’ anyway.

The car park is already pretty full; the earth underfoot is parched and cracked and dusty. It’s all very picturesque; families skitting about everywhere, the shrieks of young children when they spot the adventure playground right by the exit. Harry hadn’t realised it was the very last weekend of the school summer holidays. Oops.

“Poor parents, bringing their kids all the way here and all they want to do is go on the swings.” Louis comments as they pass by. He kicks the dirt with the toe of his trainer as they walk, pulling up clouds of tan coloured dust.

“I wanna go on the swings too,” Harry jokes.

“Well I won’t patch up your knee when you go flying off.”

Harry laughs and their arms brush slightly as they walk along. There is a little hut for admissions and he reaches for his wallet as they make their way over. There’s no queue, luckily, the family of four in front of them going in just as they arrive behind them.

“Hi, uh, two please?” Harry bumbles, not really sure of protocol, and he can hear Louis snorting softly by his side. Discreetly he reaches round and jabs Louis in the kidney.

“Oi!” Louis yelps, stepping away from him. “Leave me alone.”

Once they get through the gates, they are met with rows upon rows of dark green leafy foliage arranged in perfect order, some overflowing with fruits and others more sparse. There are little mud tracks between each one, the earth as dry and cracked as in the car park. There is a stand with the baskets that you have to pay a pound each for.

Louis grumbles but Harry hushes him and goes up to purchase them a basket each.

Harry is more enthusiastic for strawberry picking than Louis; that much is evident as Louis stands over him looking into the distance as Harry tries to get him involved. He eases into it though after a while, and Harry is almost like a proud parent watching him scuttle off in the direction of a more fruitful frond.

“This one looks like a brain!” Louis says, proudly holding up a slightly skew-whiff strawberry with ridges all over it that do indeed make it look like a brain.

“Your brain, maybe.” Harry says, ducking out of the way of Louis’ fist.

They carry on a bit further, bypassing a patch of strawberries that have seen better days and swatting bumblebees and butterflies as they go.

“It really is actually very beautiful here,” Harry says, rather philosophically. “Like, the nature and the butterflies and the sun. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Louis smiles at him almost wistfully, and Harry anticipates more mocking, but it doesn’t come. “Yeah, it’s very nice. Different too.”

“Exactly!” Harry exclaims. “I told you you’d like it!”

“I didn’t say I liked it,” Louis smirks, but Harry’s 98% sure he’s joking.

Louis moves up the row quicker than Harry, who had stopped to actually pick some strawberries, seeing as though that’s what they’re here for. He crouches down and picks four nice looking ones that don’t have any blemishes on – he’s a strawberry discriminator, he knows – and puts them in the basket. He watches an ant make its way across the dry earth and he wonders where it might be going.

“Here, Harry, this is one for you!” Louis’ voice distracts him from his ant duties. He wanders over to Louis who is shielding the chosen strawberry between his hands until Harry is right up close. He grins wickedly as he opens his palms like a clamshell and it’s….

Well, it’s a penis in strawberry form. But not a healthy penis. It’s long and narrow and curves worryingly at the end, covered in discoloration and half its pips are missing. There is even a bulbous mass on the underside that could pass for at least half a ball sack.

Harry stares at in disbelief, biting the inside of his cheek to try and not laugh because he can see Louis in his line of vision grinning devilishly.

“I… I don’t quite know what to say to that.”

Louis shrieks with laughter, throwing his head back and people in the next row over turn to look at them.

“Shhh, people are looking!”

“What, don’t you want people looking at your mangled dick?”

“No, surprisingly enough!” Harry says and he silences Louis with a smacking kiss. He hadn't been planning on it, there had been no indication to try another kiss, but being brave ultimately pays off.

At the end of the row they’re currently frolicking in, Harry spies a row two up from where they are now, full looking red strawberries evident a mile off.

He dashes over, looking at the large juicy fruits that are nestled in the green foliage. Down under a large leaf in the shade is a smaller one. Harry picks it off the plant, the majority of it still green and unripe, and holds it up to Louis who had followed behind him languidly.

“Lou, it’s your strawberry doppelganger!”

“That’s tiny!” Louis protests and Harry looks at him as if to say ‘and…?’ which gets him a middle finger from Louis. “You can go off people, y’know?”

Louis stomps off a bit further with his hands cushioning the bottom of his back. Harry carries both of their baskets; Louis’ one full of the disfigured fruits and Harry’s full of actual aesthetically pleasing fruits.

They stay for about another half an hour; Louis spending most of that time either following Harry around like a lost puppy or standing with his arms out and spine curved pretending to sunbathe.

There is one of those wooden boards with two people painted comically onto it with holes to stick your own head through by the exit, which Louis flat out refuses to be part of. Harry wanders past it longingly, past the adventure playground and a couple of huts selling refreshments and souvenirs, towards the car.

He turns round to speak to Louis and finds him running to catch up, a bottle of Coke in his hand. “Bloody two pound twenty for this!” He squeaks. “That’s why I only got one. You can share mine.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, reaching out for the bottle. At least its ice cold - it should be hand served to them by Greek Gods in goblets encrusted with gold for that price.

It’s boiling inside the car and they sit there almost breathless from the heat with the cold air blower and windows open before it slowly becomes livable again.

“So, uh, stupid question, maybe, but what are we gonna do with all these strawberries?” Louis asks, looking at the baskets that are on his lap.

“Give ‘em to Jay?” Harry suggests. “She probably know how to make jam, right?”

Louis is silent, and Harry looks up to see Louis staring back at him trying to subdue a laughing fit. “Jam? My mum… a jam maker? Do you even  _ know  _ her, Harry?”

“All right!” Harry turns away, flaring his nostrils and trying not to laugh too. “Your Nan then?”

“Harry, my Nan’s in Doncaster, you know that. You’ve been to her house at least four times.”

_ True,  _ Harry thinks. “Okay well, we could just keep them for ourselves?”

“Harry, you’ll be eating strawberries for weeks.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Shame Wimbledon has already happened; you could’ve sold them and made a killing!”

“Hmm, damn. Missed a golden business opportunity there.”

“You did,” Louis agrees with a grave expression that turns into a tiny smile. “Oh well, I guess we’ll just take them back with us. See how many we can get through.”

“Fine,” Harry agrees, reaching over for one. It’s a bit sour but he can’t let Louis know that. He chucks the stalk out of the window and a bird is pecking at it within a second. It’s finally beginning to cool down inside the car but the leather of the steering wheel is still red hot to the touch.

“God it’s so hot!” Louis groans, tipping his head back. “Why did we have to get a black car?”

“I think any colour car would be just as hot, Lou.”

“Is it not the same as black clothes?”

“No, don’t think it is.”

“Oh,” Louis mutters, bringing his head back up and picking at the strawberries half-heartedly. He reaches up and itches the top of his arm and Harry notices the colour he’s caught.

“Look, you’ve caught the sun on your shoulders,” Harry points out.

Louis has indeed got a smattering of freckles and an early peachy-pink tan on his shoulders where they’d been in the sun all afternoon. He moves the thick strap of his baggy tank top and admires his fledgling tan lines.

“Your nose is red,” Louis points out, pulling down the mirrored visor so Harry can see. “You match the strawberries.”

Harry rolls his eyes and flips the visor back up; he doesn’t want to look anymore.

“Shall we get something to eat? I’m bloody starving.”

“At your service,” Harry says, holding up the tray of strawberries.

“No, I want _ proper  _ food.” Louis says with a sigh, batting away the tray. “Where is there near here?”

“How should I know, I’ve never been here before!” Harry replies. “Get your phone out, have a look. There’s gotta be a pub or something?”

With his head in his phone, Louis rattles off a long list of places with quirky, oddball names that are within a ten mile radius of where they are now. He sticks his nose up at the organic vegan café, and shows momentary interest in a burger place before noticing it’s closed for renovations.

“Who in their right minds closes their business in the middle of summer, the height of the trading period? Stupid fucking idiots…” He mumbles as he continues to stare at his phone, scrolling and jiggling his knee restlessly. Harry smiles to himself at Louis getting so passionate about something; it’s been a long time since he’s seen Louis be focussed and affected by something, even if it is just a burger joint closing over the summer period.

Eventually, Louis finds a pub and Harry follows his poor directions to a quaint little country pub with a sign atop a flagpole swaying lightly in the breeze. There is every colour and shaped wildflower imaginable out the front, Harry admires them in the beds that separate the car park and the path that leads to the doors. He appreciates the purples and the greens, the bursts of orangey-red that dance in the breeze and the lovely scents that waft through the gentle air.

Inside is almost deserted apart from a few men at the bar and a couple of couples in opposing corners of the room. Double doors are wide open at the back of the room, past the end of the bar, leading to a very nice looking beer garden. They make their way through, saying good afternoon to the barmaid as they pass.

The pub garden is a little suntrap; the gentle breeze taking the edge off the stuffy heat. Immediately outside the doors is a small decked area with exposed beams letting slanted columns of sunlight through, and then beyond that it’s open with benches and circular tables everywhere. The wood is warped and bleached from the sun and when they sit down at a table the surface is hot on the backs of their legs.

“This is why I never wear shorts,” Harry moans as he pulls down his knee length stonewash Bermuda’s as far as he can without exposing his behind.

“If you want to cook in black skinnies on a day like today, be my guest. I won’t be there to fan you down.” Louis says, plucking a laminated menu card out from between the salt and pepper shakers. He oohs and ahhs over the menu, unable to choose between a BLT with chips, a cheese steak baguette or maybe even the nachos with onion rings and garlic bread.

Harry’s thoughts immediately travel to onion and garlic and the obvious breath-related problems that they carry, imagining the pong to be quite the mood killer - potentially,  _ of course  _ \- and Louis seems to be on the same page too, because he looks up with a grimace.

“Actually, on second thoughts, maybe onion  _ and  _ garlic is a bit much?”

“Hmm,” Harry agrees, trying not to obsess over the fact they were both thinking the same thing. “BLT with chips then?”

“Yeah, that’s probably the safest bet, eh.” Louis says with a small exhale. He sets down his menu and looks up at Harry. “Will you ask them for extra chips and make sure the bacon is crispy?”

“Hang on, why have I gotta order?”

“Because I asked nicely?”

“You didn’t even say please!”

“Please?” Louis asks, flashing a winning smile that he probably knows full well Harry can’t resist.

“Ugh, fine!” Harry sighs, getting up and unfolding himself from the bench. “See you in a minute.”

“Bye love,” Louis says softly, sticking his hands out and letting the tips of his fingers brush over Harry’s hip as he passes by. Harry’s half way to the bar by the time his brain wakes up and realises the interaction they’d just shared, and his mind is almost blank as he gets to the bar to orders the lunches.

 

*

 

Louis’ plate arrives; exactly half taken up with the thick rashers of crisp bacon, lashings of mayo, crunchy lettuce and bright red tomato between farmhouse bread, and the other half with seasoned chips. A small pot of homemade coleslaw balanced precariously on the side and wobbles as the young waitress sets it down.

Harry’s own panini is less intimidating with a small handful of chips and a side salad. He thanks the waitress profusely and kicks Louis under the table as the man smirks at him from behind his hand.

Louis takes a large bite, shovels in several chips, washes it down with a gulp of beer then repeats. Harry picks at his own chips and then carefully rips off the corner of his panini and pops it in his mouth.

Louis devours his food much too fast and gives himself hiccups, each one louder and more attention-seeking than the last. He leans back in his seat and cradles his belly, groaning out in pain every few seconds. Harry does his best to ignore him as he stabs a chip into the puddle of ketchup on his plate.

“Harry, pay attention to me!” Louis whines, reaching across the table and slapping his palm down. “I’m poorly!”

“No you’re not, you’ve just eaten too fast.”

“No I haven’t, you just eat slow so everyone else looks fast by comparison.”

Harry loves that Louis’ petulantly well-meaning argumentative side is starting to creep back into their conversations, happy that it seems to come as easily as it had done before. Louis rubs his tummy gently like he’s expecting, and then burps loudly behind his hand.

“Ooh sorry!” He yelps, eyes wide. “Better out than in.”

Harry shakes his head. “You definitely aren’t getting a second date now.”

He hadn’t planned to start throwing up lines like _ that  _ , and for a moment he can’t meet Louis’ eye, but then Louis breaks into a grin and pretends to tremble his lip with upset.  “I might as well just leave now, eh?”

Louis pretends to stand up to leave and Harry reaches out for his hand instinctively. “Don’t go.” He says, perhaps a little more earnestly than the situation would call for.

Louis sits back down abruptly, leaving their hands touching. “I’m not really.”

They share the moment, staying connected until the heat from the pads of his fingers against Louis’ scorching skin gets too much and they have to separate. Louis goes inside after a while to get them more drinks, Cokes this time, and Harry takes a second to collect himself. He looks out at the rolling fields behind the pub, only a small little farm house and a dozen cows and sheep breaking up the landscape.

The day has been perfect; Harry decides in that moment – whether it’s wise or not – that they won’t risk putting a dampener on things by trying to have any big talks tonight.

 

*

 

Louis is even more sun kissed by the time they get home. Or, back to  _ his  _ house, Harry corrects himself. The temperature outside had begun to subside, thankfully, at about half past five and the journey home as a passenger had been a relaxing one. The breeze spilling in from the open windows leaves his hair a tangled mess, and he finds an elastic band in the ashtray that he scrapes the top of his hair into a stubby little ponytail with.

“Very glam,” Louis remarks, taking his eyes off the road for a second to look at him.

Harry peers at himself in the wing mirror; messy ponytail lop-sided and half falling out. It’;s been years since he’s had hair long enough to put up.

“You’re just jealous,” He comments back. Not long after they moved into their house, Louis had gone through a long hair phase, pushing it back off his forehead with an elastic headband. His hair now is short again, shaved into his neck and messy – sorry,  _ shaggy  _ – on top, either off his face with product when he wants to make an effort or sweeping over his forehead around his ear when he’s just being himself. The little flicking curl is Harry’s favourite. Also, don’t get him started on the swirly fringe phase Louis had gone through a couple of years back.

The drive home doesn’t feel as long as the journey out, with Harry’s follicular fancies distracting him from counting the miles. The local radio plays an hour of club classics all the way home, both of them competing for who can hit the best high notes during You’ve Got The Love by The Source and Candi Staton.

It’s Louis, but Harry won’t admit that.

 

*

 

Having eaten a large late lunch, they’re not ready to face dinner at the appropriate time, and end up sharing a family size bag of chili heatwave Doritos at eleven o’clock. The telly is on but with no Match of the Day or football league highlights to watch, they end up just listening to the music channels.

They’d started off bookends on the same sofa, when Louis had returned several hours in with two teas, he’d inched a bit closer. By the time it’s becoming dark around them, Harry has extended his legs across the sofa and Louis is slumped against his side, led out over Harry’s hip and nestled into the curvature of his hip and side.

Elvis stalks in and out as if trying to make a statement. Louis holds out his hand to him and wiggles his fingers and the cat approaches, rubs up against his hand and then slinks away again.

Fickle things, cats.

They lay there a bit longer. Harry shifts underneath Louis’ weight and the slightly smaller man rolls off him onto the sofa cushion, looking up at Harry.

“Hi,” Harry says, feeling the bashful sort of embarrassed.

Louis smiles. “Hey.”

“All right?”

“Yep,” Louis pops. “You uh, you got anything in?” Louis asks him after an extended period of easy silence. Harry’s neck snaps up and Louis grins mischievously as Harry catches on to what he is requesting.

“Are you… asking what I  _ think  _ you’re asking, Tomlinson?”

“Yeah, why not?” Louis says, shifting to sit up as Harry pushes himself up onto his elbow, dropping one leg off the cushion to the floor.

Harry is stunned. Louis had never, repeat  _ never  _ voluntarily asked to get stoned with him in all the time they’d known each other. He had partaken, of course, back in the early days, but Harry was always well on his way to gone when that happened, and some of the most otherworldly blow jobs ever had resulted. Not that Harry is thinking of that, of course.

“Do you have any?” Louis repeats, and Harry focuses again, looking briefly at Louis’ lips. It’s not becasue he’s thinking of blow jobs, but Louis is licking his lips and making them slick and pink and Harry’s suddenly feeling very out of control.

“Well yeah,” He rasps, making efforts to drag his gaze away from Louis and over to the sideboard where Louis knows full well he keeps his weed. Louis scrambles off the sofa and shuffles on his knees over to the cupboard, grabs the box from the back of the bottom shelf and inches his way back over, still on his knees. Fuck.

He hands it to Harry and stays on his knees, legs curled underneath him and body compact and lithe as he sits there waiting for Harry patiently.

Feeling sure as hell that this won’t end well, Harry shuffles upright and leans forward, placing the lunchbox down on the coffee table. The lid makes a snapping noise as he opens it and Louis is watching his every move; his eyes following every track that his hands make. Harry takes out the rolling papers and grinder and fashions a roach off the corner of the Rizla pack. The box is a mess; clumps of tobacco, buds and cigarette butts littered in between half-empty Rizla’s and empty baggies.

“I can’t roll if you’re watching me.” Harry says, but it comes out as a whisper.

“Yes you can,” Louis replies, just as softly.

Harry swallows and closes his eyes. He feels his way around packing the joint; it’s not like he’s not done it a million times before. He’s never going to be able to imagine Louis away completely, but it feels marginally easier this way, not being able to feel his eyes boring into him.

He opens his eyes again to roll the paper, lifting it to his lips and licking across the gummed edge discreetly. He doesn’t  _ dare  _ look at Louis while he does it.

Louis takes lighter out of the box and holds it out to him.

“Keen.” Harry remarks, slipping the unlit joint between his fingers.

“Just get it lit, Harry.” Louis orders, just as softly.

Louis doesn't respond. Harry puts the joint to his lips and takes the lighter from Louis, careful to avoid skin-on-skin contact. He lights up and takes a slow, languid lungful of pungent smoke. It feels good and maybe it’s just the build-up of tension he’s experiencing anyway, but he begins to feel the effects on just the second inhale. He lets the smoke tumble silently from his nose and mouth and holds the joint out for Louis, who takes it.

Harry watches out of the corner of his eye as Louis takes a hit; the smoke wraps around his shoulders like the clouds of heaven. He takes another deep drag and sucks up the smoke quickly, letting it curl out in loops.

“Guess I’m not driving back tonight,” Louis remarks, passing it back. Harry doesn't focus on the fact he didn’t say driving _ home. _

Harry takes another drag, the intoxicating fumes flooding his lungs. He relaxes back, feeling like he’s laying on a cloud. He watches and it feels like they’re on some sort of time delay as Louis gets slowly to his feet and collapses onto the sofa next to him. They fit together perfectly and they both make varying noises of contentment as they sit there. Louis bounces his foot, moving his knee back and forth. Their skin brushes together as he does.

“Just think…” Harry says slowly. “How much second hand weed smoke Elvis has inhaled over the years.”

Louis snorts, probably not anticipating what Harry was going to say. He slaps his thigh but he’s a bit off centre and misses.

“Shut up!” Harry counters. “If he was my child they’d have taken him away long ago. I’d be on some sorta register!”

“You’re like, a real weirdo when you’re stoned.” Louis reveals to him, his head lolling back. “Like, weirder than normal.”

“No need to be rude!” Harry says, knocking his head against Louis’ shoulder way of chastising him. The heat radiates off him where he’s a little bit sunburnt. “D’you remember our first date?”

Louis smirks and makes an unidentifiable noise. “How’d you get from there t- uh, I think... maybe? Why?”

“Do you remember?” Harry asks again, patiently.

Louis sighs and rolls his head over to the side to look at Harry. Harry doesn’t dare look back. “The impromptu Maccie D’s?”

“Well yeah, but I meant our  _ actual  _ first date,” Harry says slowly. “To the cinema.”

Louis snorts gently. “Yes.”

“Mamma Mia.” They both say at the same time.

“Couldn’t have been a gayer first date if we tried, could it?” Louis offers with a watery smile.

“If we’d have waited another two weeks we could’ve seen The Dark Knight,” Harry says, coughing slightly. Louis doesn't flinch.  “Much more macho.”

Louis laughs; Harry feels prickles of warmth burst inside his chest. “I’m glad it was Mamma Mia.”

It’s not quite a huge revelation or a declaration, but it feels like good progress in Harry’s muddled brain. “Me too.”

“Besides, s’not like we didn’t watch The Dark Knight at Payno’s every weekend for like, two years straight.”

“Two years gay,” They both mutter under their breaths, and that’s when Harry turns towards Louis; it’s instantaneous and he couldn't do anything to stop it. It happened so easily; the play on words they’d always found so hilarious in better times.

Louis tips his head forward and kisses Harry first; probably two milliseconds ahead of Harry’s plans to do the exact same thing. Their lips are misaligned with the direction of their faces towards each other, and they’re both spaced out and reactions aren’t as sharp as they could be.

It’s languid and slow, no tongue, just the press of soft but dry lips against each other.

“We’re doing good so far, right?” Louis asks as they break apart, Harry’s lips tingling with Louis’ warm breath against his skin.

Harry nods and Louis rests his head back down on the back of the sofa, still watching him. His lips are slightly parted and he’s breathing heavy; eyes heavy too. “Really good, I think.”

“Where, um,” Louis laughs softly. “Where should I sleep tonight?”

“Where do you wanna sleep tonight?” Harry asks rhetorically, inching precariously close to Dangerous Territory. He loses his concentration as he looks at Louis. He blinks to bring him back into focus and quickly wets his lips with a swipe of the tip of his tongue.

“With you,” Louis replies, almost wordlessly.

The joint sits forgotten about in the ashtray and the air around them is thick and fragrant. Louis licks his lips again too and moves his head back towards Harry’s. Their lips touch again, delicate and warm. Harry presses one close-lipped kiss to Louis’, draws back and then fits their lips back together perfectly.

“Wanna sleep next to you.”

Louis slings his arm over Harry’s tummy, tucking his fingertips just under the material of Harry’s top. Harry puts his own arm around Louis’ shoulders and pulls him close. They relax into the corner of the couch, bodies pressed close together.

“We’ll be okay?” Louis says, not lifting his head. Harry isn’t sure if the inflection he hears means Louis is asking or telling him, but he nods anyway.

“I promise.”

 

*

 

It’s gone 2am when Harry decides he’s ready for bed. They’ve been tangled in each other watching shit telly for hours now; a blanket pulled down over their bodies since about midnight and Elvis curled up in Louis’ arms.

“Lou?” Harry says quietly, dipping his hand underneath the blanket and carefully running his hand up and down Louis’ arm, unsure if he's awake or not. “Lou, I’m gonna go to bed, you coming?”

“Yeah”, Louis stirs after a beat, lifting his head off Harry’s chest and blinking a few times. Elvis stirs too with the movement and gives them both very displeased looks before leaping off the sofa and onto the opposite one. The side of Louis’ face where he’d been nestled into Harry is all pink and creased from the rumpled material of Harry’s t-shirt, his hair has been pushed back and smoothed over and then mussed up again, now sticking up in every direction.

He follows Louis up off the sofa, letting the blanket fall to the floor. He feels cold and disgruntled and more tired than ever as he steps over the heap and trails Louis out the room, pulling the living room door to but not completely closed so Elvis can get out.

“After you,” He allows Louis to pass first. He trudges up the stairs sleepily, taking each step two feet at a time until he reaches the top. Louis doesn’t hesitate to go straight into their room, and Harry’s not sure if he was expecting him to or not, but he’s glad there was no delay.

The curtains are wide open and the moonlight in the clear night sky beams in through the windowpane, setting the room in a milky silver-blue light. Harry is glad he made the effort to tidy up earlier. Louis turns around with a soft, sleepy smile on his face as Harry reaches over for the lamp at the side of the bed.

The cool toned hue of the room is replaced with pale yellow warmth and Harry can see Louis better again. He doesn’t say a word as he looks around the room, one hand pressed against his tummy. “I suppose you’ve got used to having the bed to yourself.”

Harry shakes his head, not trusting himself to form a verbal response

Louis turns back and looks out the window for a second. Harry keeps standing where he is, frozen like a videogame character on pause. Louis places the hand that was on his tummy to the glass panel and he stares for a moment or two. When he moves it away again his hand print is left behind.

He turns, smiling brightly. “I didn’t bring any PJ’s.”

“You’ve never worn pyjamas.”

“That’s true.” Louis laughs softly. “Guess I’ll just sleep in this then?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, watching as Louis tugs at his shorts and the loose grey material falls to the floor. Harry grips the door frame, trying not to be obvious, as he watches Louis step out of them.  He stands there in his boxers, muscles rippling in his thick dark thighs down to his knees as he kicks the shorts off his ankle.

“All right?” Louis asks. Harry just nods blindly. “Shall we…”

Harry nods, pulling his own t-shirt off. He’s in jogging shorts now so doesn’t bother to take them off. He climbs in first, into his side of the bed, watching Louis move round the bed to his side. Harry rolls onto his side as Louis gets in, initially staying on his back. He leaves the covers lingering around his middle and after what feels like months Louis looks around.

“All right still?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah, fine.” Harry replies. “You?”

“Uh huh,” Louis confirms. “Wanna turn the light off?”

Harry does so, rolling onto his other side to reach the light switch that had fallen down between the bedside table and the bed frame. He palms his way around blindly until he finds the switch and clicks the light off. He feels the bed shift behind him again and when he rolls back over Louis is closer, on his side too.

“I love you,” Louis says simply before reaching up for Harry’s face. He presses an urgent kiss straight to his lips; there is no preamble. Harry goes straight for his hips, pulling Louis’ body in closer towards his own. Louis breaks into his mouth with his tongue desperately and like he’s been waiting all night to do so. Maybe he has?

Louis runs his hands through Harry’s messy hair, discovering tangles in the curls that are just beginning to grow down Harry’s neck, but he doesn’t mind.

“Lou-” Harry tries to interrupt but Louis stops him.

“I love you an’ that’s all that matters tonight,” Louis says urgently. “Please?”

“I- I love you too, fucking hell.” Harry manages to mumble as Louis kisses him, hands travelling down from his hair across his jaw and coming to a halt on his chest. Louis presses tightly, the ends of his fingers just starting to curl around the curvature of Harry’s shoulder. He presses his palm in firmly and runs his other fingers down between Harry’s abs, over his bellybutton and through the sparse trail of hair that leads down to his-

“Lou-” He tries again, tensing up slightly as Louis’ fingers slide under his waistband.

“It’s okay,” Louis soothes gently. “Please? Please say you want this too.”

He does want it. More than anything. He knows this probably – definitely – isn’t the best thing they could be doing right now, but he can’t stop himself, because he doesn't want to stop. He makes a small noise which he intends to mean ‘yes I want this’ without  _ actually  _ saying it, and Louis takes it as such.

His hand remains between his shorts and his boxers for a moment, palming away as they kiss and Harry is unabashedly half-hard already, just from a few moments of kissing. Louis shifts down the bed an inch or so and latches on to Harry’s neck, biting the skin between his teeth then sucking a love bite into his collar bone, below the jut of it so it can be hidden, how thoughtful.

“Lou, babe-” Harry tries, not sure what he’s really trying to say. Louis’ attention comes back to him at the mention of his name, and maybe that’s what Harry wanted. Yes, that’s definitely what he wanted. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Louis replies, smiling out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes blown and sated. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Harry replies without hesitation. “Missed you.”

Louis reaches up with his spare hand and strokes a strand of hair out of Harry’s eyes. His other hand stays in his shorts. “Can I touch you, please? Want to make you feel good.”

Harry swallows and tears his eyes away for a moment, the inside of his bottom lip clamped between his teeth. With a staggered out breath that feels like a leap of faith, he looks back to Louis and nods. The boys’ blue eyes turn electric and he puts Harry on his back, clambering onto his lap with knees pressing into the duvet either side of his hips.  Louis runs both hands up the centre of Harry’s body, smoothing the skin over and branching out over his pecs to brush his fingers over his still sensitive nipples.

Harry inhales sharply and Louis rubs over them again, the sensitive buds catching on the ridges of all four fingers. Harry can feel himself go cold and then hot and his skin tingles under the surface with goosebumps. Fire chases Louis' fingertips as he drags his hands back down Harry’s body again, this time down his sides and over the prominent edges of his hip bones.

He shuffles back so he's resting on Harry's thighs and tugs hastily at Harry's shorts until his cock is free, bouncing off the snap of elastic waistband and bowing in the air. He wraps his right hand around it and gives Harry a couple of smooth tugs. Harry hardens in Louis' hand in an instant, and the little slick of pre-come in his slit is exposed as his foreskin strains around his swelling head.

Harry watches Louis. His head is tilted to the left slightly and he watches his own hand moving around Harry's cock with his tongue between his lips; Harry is sure he can see a small satisfied smile playing on the corners of Louis' lips.

"Jesus Lou, fuck, I-" Harry hasn't got anything he wants to say, the words just slip out.

"Shhh," Louis says quietly, running his thumb across the slit and sinking his fist back down once more before letting go. Harry's hard cock settles back against his tummy and he's desperate to reach out for it or reach out for Louis or just  _ anything  _ just to get some relief.

He watches Louis straighten up and push his body forward as he twists out of his tank top, the pattern of his ribs just evident under his nipples and wrapping around his sides towards his back. Harry reaches for him automatically then, he's drawn to him like a moth to a flame and he can't resist. His fingertips graze Louis' tummy, just above his belly button.

He slots his own fingers between Harry's and brings his hand up towards his face, leaning in to press three soft kisses to his knuckles. "It's all right," He says gently against his skin.

Then, he drops their hands and shuffles off the bed with his own shorts his next target. Without Louis' weight on top of him, Harry feels lost but he watches as Louis climbs out of his own shorts quickly, reaching down for one quick pull before motioning at him to buck his hips.

He has Harry naked in a second, crawling back up the bed and settling between his thighs this time. Harry can feel the heat radiating off Louis' bare skin as he settles in, the sun having slowly baked them from the outside in all afternoon. Louis lowers himself level with Harry's cock and looks up at him with heavy, dark eyes.

"Hot, baby," Louis mumbles, probably more of an out-loud thought, as he takes Harry into his mouth.

Harry has to do his very best not to buck up off the bed the second Louis' lips close around him. His head is out and nudging the back of Louis' throat as Louis sinks down and comes back up with the flat of his tongue pressed against Harry’s length.

He flicks his tongue around the head, running the point around the perimeter ridge and through Harry's slit then flattening it back out to lick around the smooth, pink diameter. Harry whimpers uncontrollably as he does so, feeling his bones one by one turn to mush. Then, Louis sinks down again and takes the entirety of him into his mouth. Harry's head fills the back of Louis' throat and he can feel the soft warmth and the tiny little self-affirmative noises Louis makes; they rock through him like their own little mini-orgasms.

"Shit Lou, ca-careful, I'll-" Harry, again, can't get it out. Louis' nose brushes through the hair around the base of his cock and he makes a deeper, louder noise that Harry takes to mean 'okay' and he comes back up, popping off the top with a satisfying slurping noise that has Harry grabbing at the pillow under his head.

"You're not coming yet," Louis says, eyes determined, and he leans across him towards the drawer. The top drawer right at the back (just in case of snoopers) is where the lube is, and where the just-in-case condoms were kept.

Louis takes one of each, and it’s only then that it crosses Harry's mind that they might actually need the condom for this. Panic stricken, he looks at it where it lays, tossed onto the bed by Louis. The foil packaging is yellow and sharp on the edges. He then looks to Louis who has the lube in his hand already. He's watching Harry too.

"We don't... do we?" Harry utters breathlessly, looking back at the condom.

"I don't think we do,” Louis says, looking at him closely. "D’you know if we need it for any reason?"

"N-no, no not at all." Harry says. "God, Lou, no 'course not."

"Fuck..." Louis grabs it and throws it over his shoulder. Harry doesn't know where it lands. "I was hoping you'd say that.  _ Really  _ hoping."

Harry goes pliant, quiet and mystified then, because what happens next literally leaves him speechless. He watches as Louis gets up on his knees again, his hip bones piercing his golden skin and leaving massive craters to soak up the shadows as he - all whilst maintaining excruciatingly constant eye contact - reaches behind himself with lubed up fingers and presses one inside himself. His eyes burn into Harry's soul and his heart beats out of time in his chest as the noises Louis makes under his breath travel straight to his rock hard cock.

"'Nother..." Harry mumbles to himself once he can see Louis has relaxed while accommodating the  finger.

"Yeah baby," Louis agrees, drawing up to reach back around. His face when he sinks back down with another inside is truly a picture; his breath stutters and his eyes snap close. With his eyes still closed, his next words tumble out on a deep exhale and Harry could flip, he really could. "Gotta open myself up so you can fuck me."

Harry can't remember the last time foreplay had left him anticipating the sex so much, but then again he can't really remember  _ anything  _ right now.

"Let me," He whispers, and Louis' eyes shoot open.

"Yeah?"

"Hm-mm," Harry says, struggling to sit up some, moving the pillows with his back and the bottom one rucks up on something so he has a better vantage point. "C'mere babe."

Louis pulls his own fingers out of himself with a fluttering of his blue eyes and inches his way up the bed on his knees. He drizzles lube onto Harry’s fingers, some splashing onto his belly but that's okay.

Louis grabs hold of the headboard as Harry's first two fingers breach the hole, moving past the rim without problem, his fingers accommodated easily inside Louis' stretched hole. His hands are only  _ slightly  _ bigger than Louis' but his angle is stronger and he’s still, despite their time apart, able to get the spots he knows Louis loves. Spots maybe Louis doesn't even manage to get himself when he’s- shit, no he doesn't need to be picturing that.

When he slides in a third finger in alongside the existing two, Louis’ back straightens up and he cries out, body rolling forward and fingers slipping from the headboard to the pillow, wraps of muscles in his biceps framing Harry’s head as Louis’ own head hangs down, his breathing heavy.

"Fuck, Harry. I'm ready. Need you now.” He whimpers, sounding  _ wrecked  _ as he practically begs,  “Please?"

"Yeah baby," Harry says, pumping his fingers in once more then straightening them into a line and going in once more horizontally and then vertically and then just with two, then with one, and then out completely. "I want to make you feel everything. Feel me. My love."

"'m gon’ ride you," Louis informs him, taking one splayed palm off the pillow and pressing it into Harry’s chest and reaching back for Harry’s cock with the other. Even back-to-front and not even looking, he wraps his hand around Harry’s three-quarters hard cock and pumps once, twice, three times then backs his hips over it, hovering with Harry’s head nudging his hole. Harry can already feel the warmth and the wetness, feel Louis’ trembling thighs and hear his breathless whispers.

Louis takes him so slowly he can feel every half-inch disappear inside. Harry keeps a gentle, guiding hand draped over Louis’ left hip as he slowly takes his fill. Once he’s done, he stays resting on Harry’s thighs for just a moment, Harry nestled away inside of him hotly and his own cock standing up and away from his body. Burning skin meets burning skin and there's no way to find the divide.

Then, Louis starts moving. He reaches out for the headboard, lifting his hips and dropping them again, sliding up and down Harry's cock. Harry can’t settle on a place to touch Louis, so his hands travel over his curving spine and around his cheeks as he thrust his bum out then snaps in his hips with impeccable rhythm and timing. Harry feels euphoric, simply put.

Louis slows right down, stilling for just a few seconds each time he bottoms out, before working his way back up with circling hips. They settle into this new stripped back and raw routine, fucking languidly slow with tiredness deep set in their bones.

"All right baby?" Harry asks, looking up at Louis. His head hangs heavy on his shoulders again, eyes half-closed and glazed over. As Harry speaks, Louis licks his lips slowly and looks up.

"Yeah," He mouths, voice caught somewhere else.

"You feel so good," Harry tells him honestly, voice soft and gentle as to not injure this tender moment.

"You do too," Louis says slowly, pausing again. "Feel, s-so deep. Fuck, I... I-"

"Grab those pillows," Harry says, motioning with his head to the two pillows on the other side of the bed.

They move together as Louis leans over him, Harry’s cock still hard in him. Harry carefully rocks forward, Louis mirroring his movements so they stay together, and Harry leans back on the mound of pillows, his upper body now upright and close to Louis’. His legs collapse outwards again, his heels pressed together and down into the mattress to give Louis some leverage.

With his feet tucked under Harry's thighs for support, Louis drapes his body over Harry's, the heat between them instantly intensifying. He thrusts up into Louis, the change in angle provoking a strangled cry from Louis and then repeated sharp, short breaths and high pitched whimpers. He hooks one arm around Harry’s neck and pulls him in close; Harry takes the opportunity to take a deep inhale, dizzy with fucking desire.

"Fuck Harry," He utters, throwing his head back whilst keeping his fingers threaded tightly in Harry’s hair. "Feels so good."

"I'll take care of you baby," Harry promises him over and over as he pushes up and Louis sinks down. Harry relishes the noises that Louis makes. Louis throws himself back into Harry; they share breathless, misaligned kisses that they're too desperate not to give.

"I'm gonna come," Harry warns him some moments later, the white hot heat inside him creeping up quickly.

Louis nods and releases his hand from around Harry’s neck. He grips his shoulders tightly and looks over his own shoulder as Harry bucks his hips up and his cock hits him deep. Harry closes his eyes just as he sees Louis wrap one hand around his own cock.

The vision of that is what sends Harry into oblivion in the end. He pulses deep inside Louis, the boy on top of him losing his rhythm somewhat as he moves to the very edge too. Harry reaches out, as best as he can as he’s coming, for Louis' cock. He wraps his own hand over Louis', hardly helping at all as Louis works himself over fervently, and then they’re both crying out gutturally as they come within five or so seconds of each other, Harry first and then Louis.

Louis doesn't lift himself up and off straight away; they just lay there together for a moment just with each other. Their bodies mesh together so well they're like one. Harry's cock twitches inside Louis and is starting to go soft while their heartbeats return to normal and the sweat sheen dries on their foreheads.

They kiss blindly, sometimes not stopping for air, sometimes just little individual offerings that make lovely smacking noises. Somewhere along the line, Louis lifts his hips and Harry falls out. He’s soft and smaller now, pressed up in a small slick pool of lube and come between his thigh and Louis' left bum cheek.

"I'm gross," Louis murmurs eventually. With a farewell kiss, even though he's not going far, Louis pulls himself off the bed and tiptoes carefully out of the room to the bathroom, Harry following.

He cleans himself up as Louis adjusts the shower temperature and disappears for a towel. When he returns he looks hopeful. "Joining me?"

"I'll just wait for you in bed," Harry says, shaking his head and leaning forward to give Louis the kiss that his pouting lips are asking for.

"Fine."

 

*

 

Harry grabs the corners of the duvet and wafts them in the air; the blue and green check settling flat again. He gets his boxers off the floor and notices the discarded condom wedged between the wardrobe and the skirting board. He leans over and gives himself a head rush as he puts his boxers on. He’s unsteady on his feet as he hops from one leg to the other, still a bit tingly from what they’ve just done.

He listens to the running water as he lies back down in bed, struggling to keep his eyes open until Louis returns. His entire body aches with how hard he’s been longing for Louis and how fiery and explosive their love had been.

Louis reappears some time later, hair damp and pushed back off his face, soft blue tank top hanging off his left shoulder loosely and soft cock bobbing between his legs as he moves.

“Hey,” Louis says quietly as he gets back into bed next to Harry. He curls himself around Harry slotting their legs together and throwing his arm around his waist loosely, tucking his fingers under Harry’s hip. They lay like that for a while, on top of the covers because it’s bloody hot. Louis’ skin gives off a lot of heat, especially his shoulders and forearms where he’d caught the sun. His colouring had deepened steadily over the afternoon and he was quite cerise now. It’d be golden peach by the morning, though.

Harry’s not sure if it's him or Louis that falls asleep first, but he wakes very briefly at half past five to a sky just beginning to tinge with colour. He’s freezing cold with just the bottoms of his legs covered by the duvet, and Louis is laying heavy on the edge of the cover. He shakes him awake for just a moment until he rolls off the corner and back over.

Harry wakes again just before ten to an empty bed.

For a moment he doesn’t even realise anything is amiss. He’s got used to waking up alone, this doesn’t feel any different, but then he remembers last night. Not just the night but the whole day. His bones crackle and groan as he swings his legs out of bed and staggers out of the room to the landing.

The stairs creak as he descends them, and he sees the Kingsmill bread, the butter and the bacon out on the counter in the kitchen as he passes by. He can hear the telly coming quietly from the living room and he pushes the door open carefully to see the back of Louis’ head.

He’s sat in the middle of the three seater sofa facing the telly. He turns around as Harry comes into the room and he looks up at him, smiling. He’s in yesterday’s blue tank, shoulders a lovely golden shade, the fleece over his crossed legs and Elvis in his lap preening as Louis strokes his dark hair between his ears.

“Hey love,” He says softly, looking up. His eyes are still sleepy and his hair is soft, his shoulder slumped and relaxed, and he’s almost whispering.

“Hey,” Harry smiles, settling down on the arm of the opposite sofa. “Sleep well? What’re you doing up so early?”

“Yeah, good thanks,” Louis nods. “I dunno, just woke up and felt restless so I came down ‘ere. Didn’t wanna wake you.”

“Are you naked under there?” Harry asks suddenly, nodding to the blanket.

Louis pulls a face. “Are you mad? Elvis would claw my balls right off!”

They both laugh and Elvis quivers with the sudden spike in the noise level. “Sorry mate,” Louis whispers to Elvis, then he looks up at him. “Sit down, I’m making breakfast.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I think I can handle bacon sarnies, don’t you?” Louis mutters with a small smirk.

“Of course.”

The bacon sandwiches are very nice. The state of the kitchen after Louis has finished is another matter, but Harry doesn’t let it bother him. As far as Sunday’s go, this one turns out to be a very nice one. They sit about under the blanket until about midday and then set about getting dressed. Despite a half-serious joke from Harry about showering together, they take their separate showers and begin the awkward task of finding something in the house that belongs to Louis for him to wear.

“You kept all this stuff?” Louis asks, peering at the box of his stuff that had been in the wardrobe. He’d lifted it onto the bed and has tentatively started looking through some pieces.

“Course,” Harry says. “Why, did you think I’d binned it all?”

“Well, maybe not  _ all  _ of it but I just… presumed. I dunno.”

The last few items of clothing that had come out of the washing pile after Louis left were thrown into a carrier bag and stowed away long ago, and Harry feels awkward as he shows Louis the options. They share a grim exchange as Louis takes the bag and pours out the items onto the bed; checked board shorts, a few t-shirts, one tie and a pair of black football socks.

Louis picks the shorts and a white round neck t-shirt that, thinking about it now, might actually be Harry’s anyway. The board shorts are definitely Louis’ but Harry hasn't seen him wear them in years - Lord knows how they ended up in the washing pile. They’re a bit baggy on him now, sitting on his hips a bit precariously, but neither of them mentions it.

“What do you fancy doing today?” Harry asks. What he means is, ‘what time do you think you’ll be going’ but he doesn’t want to physically form those words, so he dances around them of course.

“Don’t mind,” Louis says, unhelpfully. “What do you want to do?”

“I dunno, hadn’t thought about it.”

“Weather’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, trying to sound bright and cheery and not as awkward as he feels.

Louis snorts and bats his hand through the air. “C’mon, this is ridiculous. Let’s do something.”

 

*

 

‘Do something’ ends up being driving an hour out to the coast. A trip to the seaside isn’t exactly what Harry had been expecting when he woke up that morning, but it ends up being such a carefree, relaxed afternoon that he doesn’t care how random it is. The stiff, awkwardness of the morning quickly melts away too, which is a relief, and it leaves Harry wondering why he even felt that way.

The breeze is a lot sharper on the coast and Louis smiles sheepishly as they sit on a wall looking down at the sand, bracing against the breeze. They’ve got sausage and chips; Louis makes an inappropriate joke about mayonnaise and Harry attracts a swarm of seagulls by throwing a chip to one solitary bird with brown splodges and a beady eye. Within a second, their patch of beach is under attack by a thousand seagulls battling for a bite.

It’s still nice though, and when the wind drops they have a few minutes in the sun and they could be in Spain it’s that nice. They browse the gift shops half-heartedly, poking fun at all the God awful tacky gifts. Neither of them can understand why you’d want a snow globe in summer, depicting a beach front no less, but they’re better than the naked lady sunbathing with uncontrollable body hair fridge magnets, so there’s that.

Harry wanders over to the personalised pens and door signs, spotting a million Harry’s but not one single Louis. He remembers Louis telling him once that as a kid, Jay would buy ‘Louise’ and scribble out the E, and how Fizzy was incessantly angry at her every time because nothing came with her specific spelling of Felicite on, and they definitely could never find Fizzy.

When he turns round to track down Louis, he’s at the till. Harry wanders over, peering over Louis’ shoulder to try and see what he’s bought. He bursts out laughing when Louis hands the hideous snow globe to him, telling him he’s now got something lovely to always remember this day by. Harry turns it over in his hand, smirking.

He’d never forget today in a million lifetimes, he didn’t need a crap snow globe to help him do that, but he won’t tell Louis.

He hopes he already knows anyway.

 

*

 

Harry goes into the back garden for a cigarette when they get home, and Louis appears a few moments later with teas. He puts them down on the grass - they have patio chairs but no table - and drags two chairs into the remaining segment of late-afternoon sunshine catching their garden.

“All right, Smoky?”

“Fine thanks,” Harry nods. “Thanks for a nice afternoon.”

“It’s all right. I only came up with the idea, I didn’t do much. You drove.”

Harry laughs.

“I did wanna ask something?” Louis says, stiffening just slightly.

“Okay…” Harry says, bracing himself mentally. “Fire away.”

Louis smiles just a little bit. “The car.” Harry’s shoulders sag because he wasn’t expecting that. “I know technically it’s not mine, and you’ve been really good letting me borrow it, but I just wondered when you’re gonna want it back?”

“Well, I don’t need it as much as you do,” Harry answers, feeling an unsettling prickle rising up his spine. Suddenly the sun beating down on him doesn’t seem so appealing.

“I know,” Louis says, his mouth twisting uncomfortably. “I just mean… it can’t go on forever can it?”

“What…” Harry feels sick. “How’d you mean?”

“Well, you’re gonna want it back aren’t you?”

“I thought…” Harry can’t get his words out. His world feels like it's caving in. He doesn’t know what he thought.

“Harry-”

“I… I- fuck…”

“Haz, I don’t wanna upset you but I’m trying to be realistic.”

“I thought you’d come back.”

“We haven’t discussed that yet have we?”

Harry feels ridiculous. “Well, no, but… I just thought… you love me.”

Louis looks up at the sky. “Yeah. I do. But… we’re still working on it aren’t we? We’re good right now.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, feeling close to tears. He can’t look at Louis right now.

“Hey, c’mon, we’re good. Just… can I have the car for a bit longer?”

“Sure,” Harry nods, still not looking up at Louis. “Like I said, I don’t need it.”

“Ah, it’s my two favourite neighbours!” Sharon’s voice interrupts them over the fence, and his head springs up. He watches Louis’ eyes travel away from him and over to the new mum. He swivels in his seat too, automatically brushing aside what they were dealing with and cooing at the tiny baby in her arms.

“Hey!” Louis jumps up immediately, dashing over and sharing a careful one armed hug with Sharon over the fence.

“Hello, love, finally home! Glad to see you’re looking well. Working away from home can be a real drag!”

Harry panics, looking at Louis with his breath held, but Louis’ eyes don’t even flicker. He just nods and does a comically exaggerated tut. “I know, it’s pretty tough going, but we’ll make it, I’m sure.”

He turns to look at Harry as he says it, and Harry catches his eye. It feels like a reassurance, like a message.

“So this must be little Daniel I’ve heard so much about!” Louis goes all gooey and gazes at Daniel in Sharon’s arms. “Ah he’s beautiful, what a cracker!”

“I hope he hasn’t been keeping you up at night screaming!” Sharon says. Her eyes carry heavy bags and her cut-off leggings and baggy red t-shirt harbour suspicious looking stains. Harry  _ still  _ wishes it was him. “He’s certainly not one to shy away from voicing his opinions!”

“No, haven’t heard, have we Haz?”

“Nope!” Harry says brightly, focussing in on the conversation for the first time. “Is he good otherwise?”

“Yeah, can’t complain!” Sharon says, though her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes yet. “He loves Albie, goes all quiet when he holds him.”

“Bless,” Louis smiles fondly, still staring at Daniel. “When my sister Fizzy was born I was six and I used to hold her all the time. Help mum with the bottles and nappies and stuff as my other sister Lottie was only two herself.”

“You can come round and help me out anytime you like!” Sharon laughs. “My Dan goes back to work next week.”

Louis laughs almost wistfully. “I would if I could, you know that.”

“Fancy a cuddle?” Sharon asks, and Harry swears he sees Louis’ eyes light up. “Can I pop round?”

“Absolutely!” Louis enthuses, turning to Harry and bugging his eyes squealing “Baby!”

Sharon is in their back garden in a second, passing baby Daniel to Louis. He sits in his chair with one leg bent upwards and Daniel resting in the crook of his elbow, propped up by his knee. Daniel doesn’t cry at being with a stranger, which is impressive. Although, Frankie and Katie took to Louis immediately too.

“Hello handsome,” Louis coos softly. “That’s a big frown, yes it is! There’s nothing to frown about, it’s a lovely day! I’ve just been to the beach I have, oh yes I have! With Harry. That’s Harry over there. He’s got big hair and long legs and he’s pretty much a giant to little lads like me and you.”

Harry can’t help but smile as he sits back in his seat watching Louis with Daniel. Sharon reaches out for his hand that is gripping the armrest and rubs his knuckles kindly. Harry suspects she knows they’re lying about Louis being away with work, but she keeps a poker face.

“Want a hold too?” Sharon asks after Louis has had about twenty minutes holding Daniel. Harry’s got her a tea and a pillow from the sofa for her back in that time and it looks like she may never go home. Not that Harry minds.

“Yes please,” He says. “If you can pry him from Lou’s arms!”

He does eventually get a cuddle with Daniel. Louis asks him if he needs assistance seen as though he didn’t grow up with any younger siblings, but Harry just ignores him. Daniel opens his eyes in his arms, blinking up at him confusedly. His eyes are a very dark blue and glassy, they absolutely shine in the daylight and Harry makes sure to shield him from the direct sunlight.

Later on when Sharon and baby Daniel have gone home and the blue sky is beginning to slowly darken, Louis tells him that he’d better be going. Harry can’t help but feel disappointed; his heart sinks and he feels like they haven’t had enough time together.

“Haven’t seen mum all weekend, obviously. And with a bit of luck I’ll catch Lottie and Katie. They’re always there on Sunday’s trying to bag a free roast dinner.” Louis says, smiling almost apologetically. Harry nods, he understands - doesn’t make it any easier though. “This has been… the best, honestly.”

“It has,” Harry agrees. “Thank you.”

“Thank  _ you  _ ,” Louis says, uncrossing his arms and standing up off the sofa.  He holds his hands out to Harry and Harry takes hold of them, Louis pulling his weight up off the sofa and into his arms. Louis cuddles him, reaches up and wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, familiarly. Harry takes the time to cherish this; he doesn’t know when he’ll have Louis here again like this.

Louis leans back after a while, looking up at him almost questioningly. “You gonna be all right?” Harry nods. “Good. I’m happy so long as you’re okay.”

“Are you gonna be all right?” Harry echoes, and Louis nods. Harry wastes no more time in giving Louis a kiss. He’s wanted to since this morning but he’d held back. Now, he doesn’t feel as if he wants to or needs to. It’s a soft one, a gentle one, just like when they were together last night. Harry isn’t sure he’s ever even ‘ _ made love  _ ’ before, but last time definitely comes close. Might be a first.

Louis lets him, he opens up for him and cradles his face in his hand. It feels extra shit to be left alone after he’s gone. They spend the evening in semi-constant texting contact, but after this weekend it doesn’t feel enough. Harry sighs and does the best he can. He curls up early in bed with Elvis, gossiping all night with him about how much he misses Louis too. Elvis doesn’t verbally respond but he can see it in his eyes that he misses him too.

 

*

 

The week that follows passes slowly, the wedding fayres looming miserably. When he’s not working he’s back to ordinary, mundane things like hoovering up cat hair and ordering the shopping to be delivered to the house. He’s not able to see Louis physically because with the run up to the wedding fayres, work is in turmoil. Heidi and Jessica are in the shop every day, meaning there is  _ always  _ something going on and the already crowded workspace is even more cramped.

“So this week has been a washout,” Louis complains when they finally get a chance to talk on Friday evening. He doesn’t sound happy at all, and there is a lot of bustle and breeze on his end. “What’re you doing this weekend? Room for a little one I hope?”

“Uh, actually, this weekend won’t work.” Harry says glumly.

“What?” Louis snaps, clearly unprepared to be rejected. “What do you mean ‘won’t work’?”

“The wedding fayres are this weekend, Saturday and Sunday. They’re all day ones too, ready for the summer 2017 rush.”

“Oh,” Louis says quietly. “Oh right, then… well that’s fine. I’ll just… I dunno.”

“Sorry Lou.” Harry says, turning his head to stare at the plumes dancing out of the ashtray. “Maybe one night in the week?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Louis hums noncommittally. He goes on to ask Harry about the wedding fayres, something he never cared about when they were together. He asks too many questions and something sits unhappily in Harry’s stomach. He holds the phone away a bit as he reaches for the joint and lights it.

“Are you smoking?”

“Yes?” Harry replies slowly after a brief suspension.

“Fags or weed?”

“Fags?”

“Harry.”

“Okay, fine, but I’ve had a stressful week and I’m miserable.”

“Why’re you miserable?”

_ Because I wanted to see you,  _ Harry thinks. “Because I’m tired and stressed.”

“I’ll let you get on with that then. Speak to you soon?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, rolling the roach between his thumb and middle finger. “Lou?”

“What?”

“I love you.” Harry says in a small voice.

Louis’ end of the line rustles again and it sounds like he sighs but Harry tries to ignore that. “Love you too, Haz.”

 

*

 

Saturday is a laborious pain in the arse that Harry is  _ not  _ in the mood for. He’s not as broken hearted as he had been the last time they were doing this, but he’s feeling unsettled in a way which he had not been anticipating. He almost wishes they’d never bothered calling each other last night because now he’s repeating every single nuance in Louis’ tone and replaying every sigh and stilted exchange. He’d gone from missing Louis but eager to see him again to missing Louis and petrified that he won’t see him again in the space of a week.

He turns up (which is difficult without the car), does his thing and then goes home again on Saturday, burdening Elvis with all of his grumbles. On Sunday it’s more of the same. The one good thing is it’s a later start so he doesn’t have to get up so early. The only good thing in his life, because he didn't hear from Louis at all after an initial good morning text.

The Sunday fayre, as always, is busier than the Saturday one. Harry would expect it to be the other way round but it isn’t and that’s just the way it is. It’s one thing he  _ can  _ accept.

The morning goes by fairly painlessly, and just before two he hears Alan calling his name looking proud as punch.

“Harry!” He beams at him. “C’mere lad, these ladies are getting married next year! I thought you might be able to chat, you know, exchange ideas as you’re… well, you’ve got some great ideas and some  _ ideas  _ , I should imagine!”

Harry rolls his eyes at the bumbling old fool before him. Why Alan found it so hard to just say ‘you’re gay Harry’ he doesn’t know, but he ambles over to the girls standing smiling somewhat awkwardly in his direction.

“Hi, I'm Harry and in case it wasn’t obvious, I'm gay!" He announces airily, rolling his eyes. He adds quietly, "Sorry, about him, he’s… not very new age. He doesn’t mean offence though.”

One of the couple laughs and the other smiles. “Not a problem, no offence taken.”

“So… what’s the story?”

“Well, we’re getting married in – God, sorry I’m Anna and this is Lisa – we’re getting married. We’ve set a date of July 15th next year. We want something quite traditional, I think, we don’t want anything too showy do we?”

“No,” Lisa shakes her head. “Got a couple of ideas on colour schemes haven’t we?”

“What’re you thinking?”

“Yellows, but not like, overwhelming yellow. Like, I dunno. Any tips?”

“Ah yes, yellow will be lovely in June. I love yellow, I must admit. So roses are an obvious choice; they're available in all shades of yellow, and creams can also work well for a softer approach. They can match with other pastel shades nicely for a soft, delicate appeal. Peonies are similar but have softer edges. Tulips are a lovely option too, and available in a range of colours if you decide to sway from the solely yellow theme and go for a more… rainbow effect. Which would be a really cool thing, obviously."

"Wow, there are so many options!" Anna enthuses, her eyes bugging.

Harry laughs; he's on a roll now. Talking flowers is what he does best. "You might consider something bold like a sunflower, also. You could go all out and have an entire bouquet of the single stems, like this," He points to an image of a sunflower bouquet in the pamphlet. "Or intersperse them with something delicate and white. There are a few different options I really like: gypsophila or baby's breath, daisies, white lisianthus... loads really."

“That's... it's amazing you remember all that!”

"I wouldn't be very good at my job if I didn’t!" Harry smiles as he turns to the wild flower arrangements. "The mixture of colours and shapes in the wildflower bouquets are really quite striking too. Take a look; take any flyers that you want, ladies."

"What would you pick, if it was you?" Lisa asks, watching him closely. Harry smiles wistfully as he peers down at the pages. They blur and skew in his vision. He doesn’t need guides and templates to know what he'd pick if he was marrying Louis.

“If..." He starts a bit shakily, and he swallows the lump in his throat as discreetly as he can. "If I was planning my wedding I'd go for yellow calla lily boutonnières. I think the splash of colour is really striking. I'd always pictured navy suits as well, so..." He catches Lisa's eye and realises he's gone too far. "Sorry I got a bit carried away there. I have a habit of doing that!"

“That sounds really lovely, I'm sure that would be so nice. You’ve been really helpful, Harry, thank you so much!" Anna smiles, adding Harry’s brochure to her armful of paperwork.

The girls go away happy with Harry’s input and Harry retires to the back of the stand, letting Alan take the next passer-by. He’s thankful Marina isn’t here, because unlike Alan, she wouldn’t be too shy to ask him what his display with the girls was all about.

He pulls out his phone. No messages, no WhatsApp’s, no Snaps and no missed calls; not even a bloody promo text from Dominos. Sighing, he notes the time of 14:37 and slips his phone back into his pocket. In twenty three minutes they’ll be finished and all will be left to do will be to help pack up. Then he can go home again and be miserable there instead of here.

Once he’s put all the leftover flyers away and folded down the table, his efforts become half-arsed and Alan excuses him to the cafeteria to get them teas. Harry takes a fiver from the kitty and wanders in the direction of the hotel restaurant, following the wedding fayre signs that are pinned artistically onto the wall every few metres with blu-tack.

The venue is now closed to wedding fayre customers so the only people now are hotel guests and business owners. Harry joins the short queue, studying the menu that he’d found stuffed between the sandwich display and the soft drinks machine. Once he’s at the front of the queue, he orders two teas to go and stands daydreaming as they’re made. He pays for the drinks and wanders back towards the conference room where the wedding fayre is almost completely dismantled.

Someone bursting through the main doors draws Harry’s attention, and he stops dead because the man looks really familiar. And… shit. His heart races as he realises.

_ Louis  _ .

Louis is here.

Harry feels weak at the knees, as cliché as that is. Louis is in black high-tops, skinny jeans and a powder blue t-shirt with the sleeves rolled over. He’s clutching his burgundy bomber jacket and he looks like his Louis of five plus years ago, freshly shaved and hair done (he’s had a haircut, Harry notices). Harry is so,  _ so  _ in love with every part of him.

“Surprise?”

“Lou… wh- what’re you…” He puts the teas down on the ledge that runs around a plastic plant in the reception.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Louis explains. “Pleased to see me?”

Harry is well aware of his own appearance; he hadn’t showered since yesterday and he’s had a face like a slapped arse all afternoon so his frown lines are probably permanently set into his skin now. His hair was messy to begin with and he’s in his work polo.

“Y-yeah… more than pleased. I didn’t think… I thought- God, is this why you asked me  _ sooo  _ many questions about the wedding fayres? I thought it was a bit weird you were  _ that  _ interested.”

“Yes, I thought I was being too obvious with all the questions.”

“No, I didn’t even catch on… ‘til now.”

“Well, you were getting off your face at the time of the conversation!” Louis hisses, just the wrong side of discreetly.

“Shhh!” Harry shushes him loudly, pressing his finger to Louis’ lips but the man just smiles around it and ducks out of the way. “You’ll have me thrown out!”

“So long as I can come too that’s fine by me.” Louis says, slowing his movements down and settling in Harry’s arms.

“God, I can’t believe you’re here.” Harry utters with blissed out elation. All the worries that had been bugging him down all weekend are gone, at least for now.

“Are you gonna kiss me or what?”

Harry looks over Louis’ shoulder briefly. No one is looking. “Yep.” He kisses him, magnetising to his lips to Louis’. He can feel Louis smiling against his lips, and then he loses his composure too. “Stop laughing!”

“You started it!” Louis says, which is blatantly untrue, and Harry protests, shutting him up with another chaste kiss.

“You look… really good.” Harry confesses, revelling in the bashful little eye roll Louis gives him. “Not bad for almost thirty.”

Louis slaps his chest playfully and tuts. “Oi, less of that. I’m starting to get sensitive about that sort of thing, the closer it gets.”

“Sorry,” Harry smiles coyly. He’s not sure what makes the idea of Louis turning thirty suddenly so appealing, but it is.

“Is it nearly going home time?” Louis asks, forcing Harry to stop fantasising.

“Yeah, soon. I… I’ve gotta get this back to Alan,” Harry says, nodding down at the cups.

“Which one is his?” Louis asks, and Harry nods towards the one the right. “Cool.” Louis grabs the one on the left and takes a sip through the small drinking hole in the plastic lid. “Thanks!”

“Oi!”

“Hey, share!” Louis pouts, shielding the cup with both hands and turning his body away.

“Fine!” Harry sighs. “Don’t drink it all though! I’ll be about fifteen minutes, can you wait for me?”

“I will be right here waiting for yoooo-uuuu!” Louis sings Richard Marx softly, laughing at himself as he slides his body into a seat and props himself up on his elbows to wait for Harry.

 

*

 

“Ah, the car!” Harry squeaks, pretending to hug the car door as they arrive at it some twenty minutes later. “I’m  _ so  _ glad I don’t have to get the  _ bus  _ home!”

“Oh so that’s the real reason you’re so pleased to see me, ‘cause I brought the car back?” Louis says with mock outrage.

“Yeah, sorry love. That is the unfortunate truth.”

Louis rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath for Harry to shut up. They get in the car together and it’s just like old times. Harry hooks his thumbs around the bottom of the steering wheel and stares at the logo in the middle as Louis shuffles about beside him. Then he stops.

“All right?” Louis asks, and Harry looks up at him. He’s paused reaching around for his seatbelt, his body facing away but his attention poised on Harry. “What’ve you stopped for?”

“Nothing, sorry…” Harry blinks to clear his head and busies himself with turning over the key in the ignition. He skips through fifteen songs on the AUX just to find one song he likes and Louis is still staring at him when he peeks out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you looking at me funny, you’re making me nervous.”

“You’re being weird. Chill out.”

“I’m trying,” Harry says honestly, which prompts Louis to reach over and run his hand over Harry’s knee. His palm is not unusually hot and Harry but feel it through his jeans.

As he’s managed to make things sufficiently awkward, the drive home is a quiet one. Louis doesn’t say anything, just winds the window down, when Harry takes one hand off the wheel to smoke. With the whistle of the wind slipping in the open window, it’s too noisy for comfortable conversation so he’s spared that for at least five minutes more.

Once they’re home they sort of dance around each other in the hallway, both going to push the living room door open at the same time. Harry is hoping for some respite in the form of a cuddle with Elvis, but he goes straight to Louis. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the floor space, feeling like he should be offering Louis a drink or giving him the tour or making sure he has everything he needs.

“This, is ridiculous!” Louis says decisively, leaping up off his chair and pouncing on Harry before he can even take a breath. “Hi, I’m Louis, you might know me, we’ve been mates for eight years, and then some. You’re Harry right? Lovely to see you again. Right, now we’ve got the pleasantries out the way can we please just have a kiss and a cuddle ‘cause I missed you and I can’t stand another minute of this weird quiet Harry.”

“’m always weird,” Harry counters before any kisses occur. Louis rolls his eyes and laughs into the air, shrugging his little shoulders.

“That’s true,” He says quietly, pulling away again with a smirk on the corner of his mouth. “’S good, though.”

“I feel stupid for being so bloody nervous of you.”

“Yeah, so you should, Harry. I’m just me; I’m the same as I’ve always been. Now, kisses please.”

Louis leans in first. Harry is relieved, to say the least. He allows himself to open up for him, for Louis to sink into him.

“I need to shower.” Harry mumbles a short time later, not wanting to leave Louis’ side for a moment but also getting quickly towards the point of hyperaware of the sweat and stains of a day’s hard work.

“I would say I’d join you but, it took me an hour and a half to get ready.” Louis mumbles back.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, shifting under Louis and coaxing the smaller one off of him. “I’ll be back down soon.”

“Okay,” Louis says, reaching out and touching his hip gently, watching him walk out of the room with a faraway smile. “See you in a bit, love.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Harry leaves Louis in the front room to go up and get in the shower. He grabs a towel from the airing cupboard and begins to slowly undress. He stands on the toe of each sock to pull them off without having to bend down, and curls himself out of his polo shirt, chucking it into the washing pile.

Normally he wouldn’t shower in the daytime, it feels weird to, but needs must. He gives the water time to adjust and warm up while he shakes himself out of his trousers and pants. He feels exposed, for some reason; perhaps it’s knowing Louis is downstairs. He jumps under the spray as quickly as he can. His hair saturates in an instant under the water and he pushes it back off of his face. The stream of water bounces off his shoulders and sprays in his face as he moves, getting his entire body soaked.

He reaches for the shampoo, bottle dented in the middle where its rapidly emptying, and squeezes the dregs of the product into the palm of his hand. His scalp tingles as he lathers up the product. The minty smell clears his sinuses, mixed with citric lemon and orange. As he's shampooing, he thinks he hears something. He ignores his first instincts and carries on shampooing, moving under the spray to rinse it out.

As he does, he hears the door open and close and the steam built up from the water escapes out of the gap, replaced with cool air.

“Lou?” He calls out, sweeping the suds out of his locks before reaching for the shower curtain. And there he is, creeping into the bathroom sheepishly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, s’me,” He whispers; Harry barely hears him.

He watches Louis pull his t-shirt off over his head, hair dropping slightly, toss it to the floor and unfasten the top button on his jeans. His body contorts and the slightly mismatches curve of his tummy and pronounced V lines of his hips ping as he wriggles out of his jeans and boxers simultaneously, socks coming off somewhere along the line too.

“I thought it took you an hour an’ a half to get ready?”

Harry says as Louis bends one leg over the edge of the bath and steps in front of him.

“Don’t care,” Louis says, slipping his arms through Harry’s that hang by his sides and resting his right cheek against his left shoulder blade. “Just missed you. Don’t wanna sit down there without you.”

“I missed you too,” Harry says over the roar of the falling droplets. They pelt Louis back and the spray back forces him to let his eyes fall closed. He stations his hands on the bottom of Louis’ back; feeling droplets slip down his skin as they press into each other.

Louis’ completely wet now, hair and all. He frees one hand momentarily to reach up and run his fingers through his fringe, destroying the sweeping style and raking it back off his face, strands slick and darkened with water.

With Louis looking up and clear, Harry takes the opportunity presented to him and takes Louis’ face in his hands, cradling his jawline with his right hand and cupping his cheek with his left. He lifts his gaze up and brings him in for a single, soft kiss. “I love you so much.”

"I love you too," Louis says as Harry turns his cheek with his hand and moves to pepper his kisses down the column, beginning to crouch somewhat as Louis curves his body into his and makes himself even shorter.

“Like, I really do. I always have and always will. I… I want you to come home.”

“I am here, Haz.”

“All the time,”

“I wanna as well,” Louis says, and Harry can’t help but feel there’s a ‘but’ coming… but it doesn’t. Not yet anyway. Instead, Louis’ hands slide down his slippery torso, through the darkened wet hair leading down from his bellybutton, and down the most intimate creases of the tops of his thighs and down; he loops his fingers slackly around Harry's burgeoning hard on. And, perhaps against his better judgement, Harry lets it happen. They don't share another word for a while, things on hold while they touch each other.

Louis curves his own body around Harry; his belly, thigh and half-hard cock pressed up against Harry’s side. He lifts his head, gazing up at Harry with his head tilted, staring with heavy eyelashes that have caught the occasional droplet.  Harry shivers with Louis’ touch, moving his hips forward in fractions as Louis takes a proper hold of him and begins languidly tossing his cock. Harry quickly plumps to fully hard and Louis own breath falters as Harry’s hand slips down his body to his cock too. It's not going to be long, Harry knows it from the way his heart is hammering and Louis is flitting between biting his lower lip and throwing his head back and groaning at the ceiling, as if pained, almost.

Harry is absolutely  _ freezing  _ where the flow of water is just missing him, but he doesn’t care. He knows it’s coming, it’s creeping up on him much quicker than he’d like and under any other circumstance he’d be slightly irritated but he needs the release more than anything right now. Plus, from the way Louis is writhing against him and pressing his forehead into his chest with deep, breathless moans, Harry doesn’t think he’ll be too far behind.

“You gonna-” Harry stammers, clipped and full of tension.

“Y-yeah-” Louis says against his chest, breath hot.

Only moments later, Louis brings him to his orgasm, one hand jerking him quickly and the other pressing firmly into his shoulder, fingertips digging into the skin. Harry feels Louis’ grip around him falter as he comes too into Harry’s fist; sated noises of anticipation and then release filling the air over the ping of the water droplets.

Louis giggles, perhaps embarrassedly, and that starts Harry off too. "Christ, I feel like a teenager again. I haven't wanked in the shower for years."

"Really?"

"What, you have?" Louis gasps, scandalised.

"Well, no not  _ recently  _ ."

"I should hope not!" Louis exclaims. "You know, what with the fact you've had a steady boyfriend for the past eight years."

Harry hears the past tense and tries not to let it sting. He doesn't look at Louis as he swallows and reaches for the shower gel. "We should clean up and get out."

It turns out the shower is a bit too cramped for two once hair washing is added to the equation - “it’ll be like straw if I don't wash it, budge up Styles” - especially with the way Louis brandishes his pointy elbows about, so Harry runs his hand over Louis' shoulder and rests his chin there, speaking softly into his ear. "I'll leave you to it, I'm gonna get knocked out otherwise."

Louis laughs at him again but nods and turns his cheek so Harry can kiss him.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry is dry and in baggy joggers and a plain t-shirt lying on the bed with his feet where his head should be and his head where his feet should be.

"I'm back," Louis announces quietly, stepping into the room a while later in boxers and a long sleeved navy blue jumper with the sleeves rolled up.

"Hey," Harry rolls his head to Louis' direction, smiling and holding an arm out for him to join him.

"Why are you upside down?" Louis asks him, dropping a knee onto the bed and laying down next to Harry, folding his legs next to Harry's head.

"Why are  _ you  _ upside down?" Harry replies, looking at him closely.

"Because I'm copying you, for some stupid reason." Louis says with a fondness in his tone.

"You wound me, Tommo."

"Don’t call me Tommo, it's weird."

Harry pauses for a second. "All your other friends call you Tommo."

Harry waits again with sort of baited breath as Louis keeps a silence up. He wishes he’d say something,  _ anything. _

"You don’t count as an 'other friend’,” Louis says eventually, and it’s better than Harry was expecting.

"No?"

"No, 'course not." Louis says, propping himself up on his elbows. He looks down the bed at Harry, who scrambles to his elbows too. "No matter what, you'll never just be my mate."

Harry lets Louis’ words sink in. He closes his eyes and repeats them in his head. Taking a deep breath, he pulls himself up to sitting, shuffles his legs around and lays back down with his head on the pillows, where it should be, with Louis.

He rolls from his back to his side, resting on his elbow and propping up his head in his hand. “Do you remember what I said? In the shower.”

“Yeah?” Louis says, still looking at the ceiling. Harry studies his profile; the freckles, the golden fuzz and thin lips.

“Will you come home?”

“Harry,” Louis says softly, staying on his back but turning his head right round so his cheek is resting on the duvet and they’re looking directly at one another. “I- I need to say something. Okay? It… I don’t want to hurt you. Any more.”

Harry swallows hard, feeling restricted. He’s unblinking as he nods, unable to form the words to tell Louis to proceed.

“Like, I know I’m not an angel in this situation. I’m not asking you to accept all the responsibility here, but it can’t all fall on me either. We did this together.”

He’s talking about the wedge that got driven between them, of course, the things that became more of a priority than their love was. Work, getting high, biting, snide remarks at the expense of the others happiness or pride.

“I’m not asking you to lay down in front of me and say things like ‘I can change’ or ‘I’ll be better’, that wouldn’t be fair. We stopped working for each other, somewhere along the line, and started working against each other. I hate that, I do. I wish… I wish I could go back sometimes. But if we go forward again, we have to get back to being a team. Because I can’t do… that again.”

By ‘that’, Harry assumes Louis means spend X amount of years grinding each other down, culminating in a massive blow that tore them apart.

“We’re strong enough to get past this, I know we are.” Harry says confidently. “Together we can do it all, I promise.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, he just shuffles closer. They lay parallel, knees touching and Louis’ head resting just under Harry’s chin. With a sigh, not of irritation, Harry lowers his head and nuzzles into Louis’ dry, fluffy hair. Between their bodies, Louis entwines their fingers together.

“I love you,” Harry says again, taking a deep breath in. "You smell like me."

"Narcissist." Louis mutters beneath him, most likely with an eye roll too.

Harry laughs, Louis’ body moving with his as he rocks with laughter. "I never said I liked it, I was just stating a fact."

Louis cranes his neck and looks up at him, shaking his head but smiling. “Weirdo.”

Harry fiddles mindlessly with Louis’ hair, running his fingers through the strands and smoothing it over to attempt to get all the hairs facing the same direction.

“Where do we start?” Louis asks eventually, those few minutes of silence maybe a chance for him to gather himself and think about what he wants to say. He focuses on Harry, eyes sallow and sad.

It’s a conversation that takes place mainly with Harry’s eyes shut, because he can feel the tears burning in his sockets and he feel like if he could just hide away it might mean that this isn’t actually happening. They try to pinpoint the moment where things started to go wrong, but of course that proves impossible. Harry can’t shake the feeling of panic that has risen quickly to a constant level inside him. feels the panic rising inside of him. Everything feels like it could be snatched from his grasp at any moment; it’s fragile and precarious.

Despite basically agreeing that they’#re going to try and fix themselves, talk soon turns sour and  hearing all of their flaws laid bare feels like skin being shredded with glass. He’d always had that feeling lingering over him that things might not go his way, but he’s feeling for the time that it might be an actual possibility.

“Sometimes, a lot of the time actually, I felt like nothing I did was good enough for you.” Louis tells him, dejectedly, eye contact long since lost. “When I wasn’t working, and I was always around you wanted me to get a job. But I got a job and you bitched that I was never there.”

Louis stops and Harry thinks he’s done, he can cope with that onslaught, but then he opens his mouth again and carries on.

“Then there’s  _ your  _ job. The best thing in your life.” Louis says bitterly, and that hurts. “It’s the thing you pride above everything else. One day, I realised maybe we weren’t living  _ for  _ each other anymore, just living  _ with  _ each other. Glorified roommates?”

Harry feels like Louis has punched him in the gut. He’d whispered under his breath that his job  _ wasn’t  _ the most important thing in his life, but his breath was caught on an extremely tight knot in his throat and he couldn’t spit the words out.

Harry with tears streaming down his cheeks and Louis looking down at his chest uncomfortably, they’re sitting up cross-legged on the bed with the duvet cover rumpled beneath them.

“There were good times too, God such good times. My best memories are with you by my side, Haz. In between the dark days we were happy.” Louis tells him. Harry listens to Louis’ words with his head hung; all he can hear is  _ were, were, were  _ over and over again.

“Maybe we moved in together too soon? Maybe we settled too young, you especially. You were nineteen, babe, just barely. You gave your all to me, and I love you for that, but you never got to see the world because you were with me.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Harry insists. The fact that he’s only ever had one partner has never been an issue.

“Maybe we said bad things to try and hurt the other on purpose. That one’s definitely true. But there was definitely love, right?”

They  _ had  _ moved in together very soon. When they met they’d been living with their parents in their respective homes about half an hour’s journey away. Without a car the bus journeys were arduous and expensive. They made the decision maybe a bit rashly. The distance felt like torture and moving in together felt the grown up step that naturally came next, their nineteen and twenty one years maybe giving them ideas slightly above their stations. Their flat was minuscule, one bedroom and a bathroom the size of a postage stamp that just had a bathtub and no shower, only a skylight in the kitchen and two mismatched rugs pushed together for a bedroom floor because there was no carpet. But it was £49 a week rent and they could afford it and it was theirs.

Harry was only just out of college and working odd shifts for Alan, which he’d had to increase and increase again over time as Louis’ job prospects continued to get worse. Three weeks before they moved, Louis had miraculously been accepted at the leisure centre. His job before that, helping coach the local under 8’s football team, was hardly offering big bucks and had finished in September with nothing but dole money in between.

Still, Louis hadn’t seemed worried and as far as Harry was concerned as long as he had Louis he’d always be all right. Living together was just how they’d hoped it be for the first few weeks. On their first payday after moving in, they’d splashed out on ridiculous things like posh crockery and a fancy light for the living room and then spent thirty quid on Domino’s pizza for tea. Together they were invincible. But once the direct debits had gone out of Harry’s account, the food shopping began dwindling and the bleak reality of being poor and out of their depth hit, the rose tinted filter on their lives together had started wear off.

In March, Louis moved jobs from the leisure centre to the football ground of the local team, working the concession stand at home games until the end of the season and doing a bit of admin for the business side of things during the week. For a while it seemed like they’d be okay, and with two incomes coming in, things weren’t so tight.

But Harry would spend his spare cash on weed and Louis’ collection of Xbox games seemed to grow exponentially each month. That was the first serious argument they’d had, the one that Liam had overheard. The first night Harry had gone to bed alone in silent darkness.

Harry hadn’t wanted to admit that he might’ve been at fault too, back then, because it was easier to blame Louis.

“Of course there was love.” Harry answers. “There still is, isn’t there? I said it… I’m not just saying ‘I love you’ for the crack, Lou. We were young and stupid and it probably wasn’t a good idea to do half the things we did. But I don’t regret it.”

“Neither do I,” Louis smiles absently. Harry watches him closely. He’s grown now; so beautiful and handsome and showing only minimal damage from the years. At almost thirty, Louis isn’t the carefree boy in his early twenties with the loud personality and penchant for rash decisions that Harry had been swept into love with. There are signs of wear and tear around his eyes when Harry looks a bit closer, and little bite marks on his lips have caused little blood spots under the cushion.

“You’re staring,” Louis says softly.

“How can I not?” Harry asks, his smile watery. “I haven't been able to look at you properly for a while. So I’m making up for it now.”

Louis looks away, smiling with obvious embarrassment. Harry keeps on looking and Louis seems to let him. e.  His earlier words are resonating in Harry’s ears so loud that he can no longer ignore it.

“Things weren’t always bad were they?” Louis asks him. Harry shakes his head pensively as he thinks about the earlier days, days he’d eventually blocked out over the years.

After almost a year of going from one part time job to the next, signing on the dole and paying with coppers because it’s all they had, Louis had got his office job that he’s still at now, just a few days before his twenty-fourth birthday. He’d started in the January of 2010 and soon their problems with money became problems with time. Specifically, making it for each other. Things had got better briefly before they got worse, and in the November of that year they moved into the two bedroomed suburban tan brick mid-terrace they’re sitting in right now.

“Right up until that morning, I never thought we’d actually fall apart. I’d never planned to leave. I didn’t think it could ever come to that.”

“You knew all day you were gonna leave?” Harry asks, feeling a rush of heartbreak all over again.

Louis screws his face up and won’t make eye contact. “No, not… I wasn't sure. I didn't plan it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Why did you go?”

“I just… snapped. Fight or flight, y’know? And I chose flight. Everything I did and said that night is a blur, it was like crazy autopilot. All I remember is bursting out into the street and realising what I’d done. It was so massive, realising it, my chest hurt so much. I couldn’t breathe. I knew I couldn’t go to Payno’s, he’d freak out.” Harry nods; Liam had been pretty freaked during that first phone call after it happened. “I knew Perrie was my only option. She stayed with me, didn’t ask any questions, just… just left me be. And- and these voices, these  _ fucking  _ annoying voices _ screaming  _ at me, they wouldn’t leave me alone, I didn’t know what to do. I tried to get you back, but everytime I tried I ended up convincing myself you were better without me. Then, before I knew it, too much time passed and I knew I’d never get you back. When I went back to mums, she just laid it bare. Told me my options.”

“What were they?”

Louis makes a face. “Get my head sorted and work things out with you, get our lives back on track. Or, pay my way out of the last few months of our rent and find my own place. Move on. I… I thought the second one was my only option; I’d done too much to ever repair things. It took me a few months to admit I could even do anything to make things right. For ages, I just…”

“Ignored the problem.”

“Yeah,” Louis replies unhappily.

Harry nods; he has nothing to add at this point and it doesn’t feel like Louis is done yet. Louis referred to the early days of their separation as ‘confusing’, and Harry couldn’t agree more. They’d ignored each other, tore each other apart, bruised each other’s egos with slanderous slanging matches and then exploded in misplaced passion, only to go back to ignoring each other again.

“We didn’t speak for the whole of May. I didn’t know where you were. I had to find out from Perrie that you’d moved back home. That hurt so much. That’s when I’d lost all my hope.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says quietly. “I just didn't know how to tell you. I felt like an idiot every time I tried to tell you. In the end I just gave up. I convinced myself you didn’t care.”

Harry scoffs. Miscommunication had clearly played a big part in this mess. “I turned up at Perrie’s with your post, piss poor excuse to try and see you, I know. But you’d already left.”

“Really?” Louis asks and Harry nods grimly. “She never told me.”

“Yeah,” Harry admits with a soft laugh. “Then you called that night – I almost jumped out of my skin, the house phone  _ never  _ rings – and I… you remembered our anniversary.”

Louis nods. He still hasn’t let go of Harry’s hand. “That was my transparent attempts at trying to make things right again. Start trying, anyway.”

“Y’think it worked?” Harry asks.

“I’d like t’think so. We’re here now. This is… progress, if anything. Admittedly, I don’t know what would’ve happened if Niall’s uncle hadn’t died.”

“That’s true,” Harry snorts, but it’s not a happy expression at all really.

“I’d like to say we would have found our way to this point by ourselves eventually. These past few weeks have been perfect, haven’t they? And it’s not like we don’t know each other, how the other one works.”

“Yeah,” Harry muses fondly. “It’s sorta been like when we were first going out. Only less freedom and more stress.”

“Tell me about it.” Louis laughs.

Harry thinks back to July, when Niall was here, the night out. He still feels warm embarrassment tickle his cheeks when he thinks about it, even though most of the night he can’t actually remember. The drinking, the girl with Louis, the being chaperoned to the toilets.

“That night, I made a right tit of myself didn’t I.”

“I must admit, I’ve never seen you  _ that  _ drunk.”

“I’m still embarrassed.”

“Don’t be,” Louis tells him softly. “I think you earned the right to have one night off from being always thinking and dealing..”

“I- I’m sorry if I did or said anything that I don’t remember. And thank you for not letting me do anything stupid that night.” Harry says. “You always take care of me, even when… well.”

“I’m always gonna take care of you, Haz, no matter what.” Louis lifts his head, leans up and places a kiss between his eyes. “Feel better yet?”

Harry nods; Louis’ lips still inches from his skin. He can feel his warm, steady breath and the static from his beard.

“We did move fast. From strangers to making out on the beach to dating so fast, friends happening somewhere in the middle of all that. It happened fast. Same as falling in love with you. Since then I don’t think I ever stopped being in love. Just some days I felt it more than others. Every day since April, I’ve been in love. A different kind of love.”

“I love you too,” Harry whispers. “Can we please try again?”

Louis feels sort of still on the bed, a minor shift in his demeanour but Harry notices the change. “We have to work together. Talk. Make time for each other.”

“I promise.”

“I promise too.” Harry says. “I hate this place without you. It was always meant for you and me, not just me.”

“Next week, I’m off. I could… stay? For the week or, a few days at least. See how we get on. Bring some stuff in.”

“That’s… I’m not on leave; I haven’t got any more holidays left to take.” Harry realises, his heart sinking.

“That’s okay,” Louis says, reaching up to move Harry’s hair out of his eyes. “I’ll be all right here by myself in the day. If you don’t mind, of course. Then we can spend the evenings together. Like old times?”

“But better.” Harry says quietly, smiling sheepishly.

Louis’ grin is broad. “Yeah,  _ way  _ better.”

  
  
  
  


 

 

 


	5. Wherever I Go, You Bring Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to find the perfect lyrics for this chapter, then Mr Styles released Sweet Creature and all my prayers were answered! I know the SC lyrics are still slightly up for debate but I've gone with rope not road :)

_‘I always think about you and how we don't speak enough. No, we started, two hearts in one home. I know it's hard when we argue. We're both stubborn I know, but oh sweet creature, sweet creature, wherever I go, you bring me home. Sweet creature, sweet creature, when I run out of rope, you bring me home.’_

Sweet Creature

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

**Sixteen months later**

 

Harry is glad to see Friday. He’s even happier when five o'clock chimes and he can go home. It's not been a particularly taxing or busy week, but Louis’ been off since Wednesday and Harry's never known jealousy like it.

He’s happy to have the car because it is _freezing_ \- the last day of warmth was mid-October.  The heel of his boots click against the pavement as he makes his way across the street to the car that’s already starting glimmer with crystals of ice.

It’s nights like these when Harry is glad they’ve got an all-singing-all-dancing car; hot air is blowing through the vents in seconds and the heated windscreen clears a moment later. He sends a quick text to Louis saying he’s on his way home, then turns the key over in the ignition and pulls onto the main road.

The journey home is several minutes longer thanks to rush hour traffic and the universal memory loss everyone _else_ seems to experience regarding how to drive whenever the weather is anything less than clear. The tarmac shines with slushy sleet and Harry picks at the share size bag of Skittles in the cup holder as they crawl along. He remembers hearing the phrase ‘you are not stuck _in_ traffic, you _are_ traffic’, and thinks about how the person that coined that term clearly wasn't stuck in a jam at the time.

Twenty minutes later, he spots his sister’s Ford parked across the road in the visitors parking bay as he pulls into his space and smiles to himself as he gets out. Gemma’s presence is lovely and that, but Gemma being here means Frankie is here too, and Harry can’t wait to see his nephew.

Frankie was born in October 2014, two months and six days before Lottie welcomed Katie into the world. Those last few months of the year were intense. The tiny little human beings spending lots of time together from the get-go, their mums unofficial sisters-in-law and best friends too.

It’s warm inside the house as Harry steps in; the heating cranked up to full. Typical Louis. Harry rolls the thermostat back down as he passes, pushing the living room door open to find his sister, Frankie, Lottie, Katie and Louis, spread out around the living room. Lottie and Gemma sit on the sofa, Gemma with Elvis and Lottie with Katie on her knee. Louis is sat cross-legged against the TV unit and Frankie is stood rather uncomfortably with his legs wide apart at the coffee table scribbling furiously.

“Honey, I’m home!” Harry sing-songs in an atrocious American accent, the Tomlinson’s looking up to greet him but his own sister too interested in whatever Elvis is doing to look up.

“Hi love,” Louis greets him with a smile and a small wave.

“Hey Haz,” Lottie greets him, touching her hand to his lightly as he rubs her shoulder. He parks himself on the sofa between the girls, prodding Gemma’s leg as he relaxes back.

“When’re my two favourite kids going to come and give me a cuddle, I wonder!” Harry says loudly, tapping his chin theatrically as if deep in thought. He looks at Katie with bug eyes and over at Frankie, who doesn't look up.

Katie scrambles off Lottie’s lap and launches herself onto his lap at speed. Harry ignores the elbow that digs into his side. Frankie follows afterwards, climbing into the small gap between his mummy and uncle. He brandishes his drawing, showing it off to Harry proudly. The page is ripped where he’s scribbled right through the surface, and his use of colour is highly inappropriate and not at all within the lines, but he looks so pleased with it.

“Nice work, mate!” Harry enthuses, reaching out to ruffle Frankie’s honey blonde curls before turning to Katie. She stares back at him; wide seafoam coloured eyes and straight blonde hair; fringe falling into her eyes and a smudge of something on her cheek.

“Hey Kitty-Kat, are you all right love?”

“Yeah,” Katie answers. It was funny how it had worked out; Lottie’s daughter automatically gravitated towards Harry and Frankie and Louis absolutely adored each other, in a sort of mix and match fashion.

“Whatcha done today? Have you been to pre-school?”

“Yeah,” Katie says again, a woman of few words.

“Did you do anything fun?”

“No,” Katie answers. Harry smiles, sticking his tongue out at Frankie who is now prodding the side of his leg.

“Nothing at all? I bet you can think of something!”

“We did shapes.” Katie shares eventually.

 _“Shapes!?_ ” Harry repeats with enthusiasm that makes Katie’s eyes start to sparkle. “I love shapes. My favourite is the triangle.”

“Like Uncle Lou’s tattootoo?” Katie asks, stumbling a bit on the word ‘tattoo’.

“Yeah just like that, babe,” Harry smiles. “What’s your favourite shape?”

“I like the triangle too,” Katie says. “The one in my book’s yellow.”

“Oh, my favourite colour!”

“Really?” Katie asks, mouth agape like Harry had just shared a massive secret. “Mine’s purple.”

“That’s the colour of your room at home isn’t it.”

“Yeah!” Katie squeals, obviously thrilled. “How you know ‘at?”

“Oooh, I know lots of things, I’m a very clever person!”

Katie gasps theatrically and Harry hears Louis snort from where he is sat. Katie spins around furiously on Harry’s knee and glares daggers at her other uncle. “Lou-Lou, no be mean!”

“I’m not, I didn’t say anything!” Louis wails, winking at them. “Anyway, now that Uncle Hazhead is home, can we have a cake?”

“Cake?” Harry asks in confusion.

“Your delightful sister bought cake mix boxes with her,” Louis explains, grinning at Gemma cheekily. “We’ve had a busy afternoon, we’ve made Peppa Pig muddy puddle cupcakes with chocolate puddle icing and Avengers cupcakes complete with magical icing that starts off white but goes blue!”

“Oh, wow!” Harry enthuses, laughing at Louis’ tone. “Well yes, I think we should have cupcakes now, for sure!”

“Woohoo!” Frankie whoops, running off to the kitchen to get the cakes.

Gemma jumps up off the sofa too. “Frankie, wait!” She calls, dashing after him. They come back in moments later carefully balancing two trays of small, crudely decorated cupcakes, Frankie eyeing them closely and licking his lips.

Katie scrambles off his lap to grab one of the Peppa Pig ones and she hands it to him proudly. “I made this ones, Hazza. You try?”

“Thanks sweetie,” He takes the cake and admires the splodge of chocolate icing. It is truly a disaster but he supposes it’s _meant_ to be messy, it’s a muddy puddle. There is a little rice paper Peppa Pig disc on top which he picks off first. “Mmm, yummy.”

“Mummy say not to eat paper but this paper okay ‘cause it not real.” Frankie explains with a serious expression. “I don’t know why’s it different but it is.”

“That’s right, this paper has got sugar in it so it’s okay to eat but paper for drawing on is bad to eat. It’s very confusing isn’t it?”

Frankie nods, looking like he’s about to start getting a bit distressed over the topic, but then he picks up an Avengers cake and forgets his plight. Harry watches him toddle over to Louis and sit down in his lap with his cupcake. He licks the icing off the top but the actual cake, it seems, isn’t going to get eaten. Harry smiles to himself as he watches, feeling ridiculously gooey inside. Frankie has settled into Louis’ arms but he keeps peering up at him with those intense Styles eyes.

“All right mate?” Louis asks Frankie softly, leaning in close to address him one-on-one. Frankie nods. “What you staring at, bud?”

Frankie pauses, seemingly a bit unsure, but then Harry watches as Frankie reaches up slowly for Louis’ beard, running his pudgy little fingers over it carefully, like he’s afraid of what it might do to him.

“Oh my beard!” Louis exclaims softly. “It’s weird isn’t it? All this hair on my face.”

“Why you got it?” Frankie asks, still feeling it cautiously. Louis sticks his chin out so Frankie can better get to the fluff.

The story of Louis’ increased facial hair isn’t a long or interesting one, much like the beard itself, but basically thirteen days ago Liam made a casual comment that Louis’ stubble was getting a bit wild. Somehow, within minutes, it had turned into a bet that Louis wouldn’t shave until Sophia gave birth. She is now less than two weeks away from her due date but has been told to expect the baby at any time. Harry thinks that Louis would probably losing the bet if he’s forced to go another two to four weeks without shaving, but in the thirteen days since blade was last touched to skin his light auburn scruff has worked its way over his chin and down his neck, following its own natural curve over his cheeks, joining up with his sideburns and across his top lip, bushy and wiry and curling about half an inch off his skin.

“I dunno, just thought I would like it.” Louis simplifies the story for Frankie. “Do you not like it, mate?”

“Can I have one?”

“When you’re older you can, yeah.”

“Okay.” Frankie nods acceptingly then looks back down at his cake. He studies it for a few moments then passes it to Louis with a disappointed look. “I don’t want this.”

“Look at the little lad,” Lottie says softly, leaning in and nudging Gemma to get her attention. “So sweet.”

“Little lad? Are you talking about Louis or Frankie?” Gemma jokes and Lottie cackles loudly.

“Oi, I heard that!” Louis says sternly as Harry and Gemma join in the laughing, Katie chuckling too because that’s what everyone else is doing.

*

Their sisters and the little ones stay for about another hour; catching up on the family gossip, giving Lottie the opportunity to vent about her job and her boyfriend and whinge about how well Fizzy is doing. The kids play nicely together, for the most part, and the adults catch up and share jokes laced with innuendos that the kids will soon be old enough to start cottoning on to.

After their guests have left and peace descends on the house again, Harry flops back down on the sofa and shuffles down, propping his socked feet up on the coffee table and crossing his legs at the ankles.

There are crumpled, chocolate stained paper cake cases all over the place and Elvis has been harassed to within an inch of his life by the two small people, but Harry wouldn’t change anything for the world. As he’s looking at the fingerprint smudges on the glass and turning the TV over from Nick Junior to MTV, Louis plops down beside him, throws one leg over Harry’s and swipes the remote control from his hand.

“Ooh, 16 & Pregnant!” Louis observes as he notches up the volume. “Which one is it? Yes! Chelsea, my favourite! That Adam is such a knob, isn’t he? Poor girl, I hope my daughter never ends up in that sorta situation.”

“Your daughter, eh?” Harry asks with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Louis says, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Little Georgie Jo-Anne Tomlinson won’t be the sort to take any shit from idiot fuckboys like that.”

“Georgie Jo-Anne?” Harry repeats, feeling his heartbeat a little faster in his chest. “She has a name does she?”

“Of course she does, Harry, don’t be silly.” Louis turns his head a fraction, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry. “Try to keep up, babe.”

Harry just smiles and turns his attention to the telly also, watching the drama unfold on screen. Shows like this make him feel sad, the heartaches the girls and their families go through, coupled with the fact that he knows as a viewer seven years down the line, none of the families stay together; arguments, custody battles and even divorce prevailing. But Louis watches any old drivel that MTV put out, he’s indiscriminate, so Harry has grown used to these people and their crazy lives.

“Do you think we'd be good dads?” Harry asks absentmindedly when the ad break cuts in.

“Yeah, course.” Louis says without hesitation.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I'd be the cool one.You'd be the one that gets all the permission slips signed on time, remembers it's coat in the winter, puts an apple in their packed lunch - that kinda thing.”

“Why do you get to be the cool one?”

“Because I am cool, Harry.” Louis says plainly like he's affronted he even had to ask.

“So am I.”

“Really?” Louis asks with a soft snort.

“Oi!” Harry pouts.

“No but seriously, collectively we'd be like, average parents that just about manage to keep the kid dressed and alive, but like, it'd be so loved wouldn't it? ‘Cause it ain’t like either of us is getting pregnant anytime soon is it? So like, when we do have a kid it will have been a long journey to get them, so we'll love them even more than anything, won’t we."

Harry turns and stares, his smile caught between his fascination and his amazement.

“What?" Louis exclaims with a nervous giggle.

“Nothing, just... like, that was the nicest thing I've ever heard you say.”

“Well it's true isn’t it?” Louis says, almost bashfully. Pink creeps into Louis’ cheeks and Harry feels even more in love with him, if possible. “Oh shut up, you’re making me mushy!”

“What if we left it in the shops or something?” Harry questions.

“You wouldn't, I'd be there to remind you not to forget it.”

“Well, that's alright then.” Harry nods. Then a thought crosses his mind. “Uhhh… what if it caught us... _y’know_ , when it's older?”

“What, shagging?” Louis asks crudely. Harry rolls his eyes with an affronted sigh and nods. “We’ll just have to be careful.  Plenty of parents still have sex, Haz. I’ve got four sisters; I understand the process!””

“Urgh, don’t put that image in my head you weirdo!” Harry tips his head back, furiously embarrassed by Louis - bloody thirty one going on fifteen man-child.

Calming down, he looks back up at Louis, who’s still smirking. “There’s plenty of time to worry ‘bout that sorta thing though, right? Not like we’ve got biological clocks ticking against us.”

“Yeah, 'course, loadsa time. Just, y’know… nice to dream, innit?”

Yeah," Harry says fondly. “Yeah it is.”

*

Their Saturday is a lazy one, courtesy of them not actually having the kids they’d been pining over the evening before. They crawl out of bed, dopily sated and thoroughly fucked out, just before half one in the afternoon. Harry mills around for most of the day, Louis flitting between lying on the sofa watching the West Ham game and standing in the kitchen eating honey nut Cheerios right out of the box.

It’s this way until six o'clock, a dark and miserable wintery six o'clock, when he has to begin attempts to surgically remove Louis from the sofa.

“C’mon, Lou, get up. Get moving.”

“I can’t be bothered now; I just wanna stay here and chill!” Louis whines from the sofa.

Despite the fact that Sophia is fit to burst and Baby Payne could arrive any day now, they’ve been invited for dinner (because that’s what happens when one or both of you are in your thirties and in a relationship) by Liam and Sophia, and the Stevens’ are joining them too.

“You’ve been ‘chilling’ all day, Lou.” Harry points out as he drops Louis’ ankles that he’d been gripping and stalks over to the ironing board set up in the corner. He’s in just his socks and boxers, ironing the shirt he wants to wear tonight. Louis had moved enough to pick his own shirt from the washing pile earlier, and that is laying tossed over the back of the chair waiting to be ironed by Harry. He wasn’t going to iron it, out of principle, but they both know he will end up doing it.

Louis eventually drags himself up as Harry hands him his freshly pressed grey denim shirt. “Thanks,” He mumbles, shrugging his baggy white t-shirt off and chucking it down on the sofa. Harry rolls his eyes and he grabs the item as he passes, taking it through to the dirty washing pile.

They head out the door, fashionably late, at twenty five past seven and brave the cold for the short walk. The group had all agreed ahead of time that they wouldn’t drink so Sophia didn’t feel left out, but when Harry suggested taking the car, Louis looked sheepishly reluctant, and there was his answer.

*

They head straight for the kitchen upon arrival, naturally, and Liam thrusts two beers into their hands before turning his attention back to the cooking. He looks particularly stressed and just a little bit sweaty.

Sophia, who had answered the door and moved slowly back towards the kitchen, has a long black maxidress on that wraps around at the front. Bump protrudes nicely at the front and Harry has to physically pin his arms to his sides so he doesn’t reach out and touch it.

Louis pops his hip as he leans up against the kitchen counter. Harry watches him, the way his body curves around, the softest suggestion of tummy under his shirt, but the thirty one year old man before him is still as perfect as he was at twenty one. His beard is fuller - _much_ fuller – and his skin a little paler, but he’s still Harry’s Louis.

“Harry?” The man himself’s voice pierces through Harry’s subconscious and he looks up, embarrassed to have been caught staring. Even after almost ten years. “Wanna give the thing so we can sit down?”

“Oh, yeah!” Harry springs back into action, handing over the gift bag.

“You weren’t supposed to buy any more gifts!” Sophia hisses, giving them the perfect ‘Mum Look’ with just a hint of fondness that softens the edges. “Honestly, you two.”

“Sorry, we just couldn’t resist this. It’s really nice - well, I think it is. I hope you two do too.” Harry says enthusiastically.

“Come on! Open it before Harry here busts a blood vessel!” Louis orders.

Sophia takes the bag and looks at it with excitement. The baby’s gender is a surprise and the gift bag is the best gender neutral one Harry could find in Asda; a creamy yellow colour with pale blue, lilac and lime green stars all over it.

“Li, want to do the honours?” Sophia says, passing the bag to him.

Liam takes the bag dutifully and tackles the little strip of Sellotape that is keeping the edges together. The gift itself is wrapped in peach coloured tissue paper that Harry had stolen – or acquired – from work and the bag is filled with multi-coloured streamers of the same paper; a little nod to what awaits them inside the package.

“Aw, pretty,” Sophia coos softly to herself as she watches Liam carefully take out handfuls of the streamers and place them down gently on the counter.

“C’mon, Payno, it’s not glass it ain’t gonna break!” Louis interjects impatiently.

“Sorry!” Liam tuts, reaching into the bag for the small, neatly wrapped item. It’s about no bigger than a wallet when it's folded up like it is, and he carefully peels back yet more tape, unravelling the tissue paper and turning the little piece of fabric over in his hands.

He unfolds the material to reveal two little arms and two little legs; he holds the soft white babygrow up in front of him and gives a watery, emotional chuckle. “Very nice! Very you two!”

He turns it so Sophia can see. Her face lights up when she sees it and she tilts her head to rest against Liam’s arm, looking at the babygrow with watery eyes herself.

The babygrow is soft and white with tiny appliqué rainbows stitched on with the tiniest little stitches. Harry had ordered a size 0-3 months as he knows how quickly babies grow out of their clothes and he wanted to make sure Baby Payne would get at least one chance to wear it.

“Ah, you guys, it’s lovely. So pretty!” Sophia reaches out to run her finger over the rainbow.

“Haz was looking stuff up the other week and we saw online that a baby born after a miscarriage is a rainbow baby,” Louis explains, arching out an imaginary rainbow with his hands as he speaks.  Harry looks at the parents-to-be; Sophia already has tears forming in her eyes, her hand clamped pre-emptively over her mouth and Liam is clutching the bodysuit; he hasn’t looked at Harry yet.

“I thought that was really lovely,” Harry adds on. “Plus, y’know, I love rainbows. So it’s kinda a two sided thing; the baby knows how special they are and also that it’s okay to be gay. If he or she wants.”

“Harry love,” Louis says softly, nudging his arm. Sophia is a mixture between crying and hiding behind her hands laughing at their little back-and-forth.

“Sorry, I know that’s not like, high on your list of concerns right now, but. Well…”

“I love it!” Sophia squeals, finally managing to get her words together. “I really, really do, it’s amazing. Thank you both so much!”

When Liam looks up his eyes are red raw and he’s pressing his lips together tightly with a smile clamped around them. “It’s the best present, honestly.”

Louis goes with Sophia through to the living room to show off the gift, and Harry listens to the coos and ahhs and squeals from mainly Perrie.

“Sorry to all you other guys, good luck finding the baby a pressie that will top that,” He hears Louis say, followed by Perrie and Sophia’s raucous laughter.

“Are you all right, Li?” Harry asks, watching his friend bust around the kitchen with determination.

“Yeah, fine!” Liam says breezily. “Just… busy, y’know? You can go through, you don’t have to stand here with me, mate. It’s all under control.”

Harry grins and allows Liam to basically push him out of the kitchen. He joins everyone else in the living room, taking a seat.

“It’s a shame Zayn couldn’t make it, eh?” Perrie muses, making a face over her glass.

“Yeah, but I think he’s got more interesting things to be doing on his holiday/wedding/honeymoon hybrid than sitting here listening to us talk about breast pumps and the best deals on nappies.”

Everyone chuckles in agreement.

Zayn and his last girlfriend Naheda hadn’t lasted long after the group’s first and only time meeting her, at Niall’s party, but his next girlfriend Samira was different. They all agreed upon meeting her that they could see how smitten Zayn was with her, and they were all zero percent surprised when a group message from Zayn to them all popped up four days previously:

 **Zayn Malik:** _‘Hey guys, um surprise? Me n Mirry got married yesterday! Will ave a party n that when we’re back. Luv u all xxxxxx’_

The short, succinct, _very_ Zayn message was accompanied by a picture of a large clear rock on Samira’s finger.

“Excuse me, I thought we’d all agreed it was to be known as the ‘Holiweddimoon’?” Louis questions, looking around the room in genuine annoyance.

Perrie snorts. “No love _, you_ decided _you’d_ call it the holidayweddermoon-”

“Holiweddimoon!” Louis corrects her as Liam appears in the doorway. “It’s not that hard!”

“Less than two weeks to go now!” Harry bursts in, changing the subject before Louis gets _too_ excited.

“That’s if I don’t go overdue! I feel like this one might keep us waiting, despite what the midwife keeps saying. Sophia sighs, looking down over her bump and cradling the mass with her arms. Liam perches on the arm of the sofa next to her and places a protective arm around her shoulders. She looks less than enthralled but doesn’t say anything.

“How far over do they let you go?” Ryan asks, clearly queasy at the thought of childbirth.

“Fourteen days is the maximum,” Louis answers before either of the prospective parents have a chance. “Most inductions happen at ten days postdates. That means after the due date. It’s not safe to go past fourteen days so if it gets to that stage they would likely perform an emergency section. ”

“Sorry, who is it that’s expecting a baby, us or you?” Liam asks with a chuckle, though Harry can _feel_ Liam’s sense of adequacy whittling away.

He puts a gentle warning hand on Louis’ thigh and shoots him a look when Louis turns to look at him with slight irritation. “What?”

“Nothing babe, just… calm down a bit.”

“I was only answering the question.”

“Yes, but Ry was asking them not you.”

“Sorry,” Louis folds his arms across his body and proceeds to sulk for a few moments. The conversation picks back up around them; Ryan and Liam moving on to talking about putting together the nursery furniture and Harry finds himself zoning into Perrie and Sophia’s conversation.

“Killing me!” Sophia is replying to Perrie about something. “Honestly, why people have their boobs done by choice, I do not know! I’m in constant agony and I look like a bloody space hopper gone wrong!”

Harry smirks to himself. For how slight Sophia normally is, pregnancy has made her positively bloom. Even Harry, a gay man, couldn’t help but stare at her boobs. They’re just, _there_ , you can’t miss them. He listens as Sophia tells Perrie she’d gone up from a B to an E, and Harry doesn’t know what that means but E must mean big - E for Enormous?

“You know, you’re the only person – other than me – in this room can get away with staring at Soph’s tits.” Louis’ voice in his ear interrupts his train of thought and he turns to his boyfriend with flame red cheeks already, he just knows it.

“I wa- I, okay, yeah I was. But I can’t help it!” Harry hisses to him, hoping no one else is listening to them.

“Yeah I know,” Louis admits, laughing and looking over at Sophia momentarily. “They’re monstrous, right. But it’s a bit like looking at your sister’s boobs or somethin’ though, int’it?”

“Yeah, it’s quite weird.”

Louis snorts and leans in for a quick peck. “You can look at my boobs as much as you like.”

Harry laughs and reaches out to tweak Louis’ knee. “Thanks for the offer.”

Harry sits back, happy to watch the evening unfold, nursing his glass of wine. Ryan, Perrie and Sophia sit on the three seater sofa, and he and Louis on the two seater; Liam away to the kitchen checking on the dinner. Ryan sits with his arm draped over the back of the sofa, fingertips skimming Perrie’s shoulder. She reaches up to wiggle her finger tips between his every once in a while, and Harry smiles at how cute that is. Sophia has one hand permanently on her tummy, running it along the underside of the bump or resting both gently on the top for comfort.

Liam bursts in and out of the room periodically, checking on drinks, checking on Sophia, checking on just about everything. Harry is surprised he doesn’t stop to check on the goldfish.

“Li, need any help?” He calls, his pink cheeked, sweat sheened friend looking across the room at him like he doesn’t even recognise him.

“Oh Harry, oh no-no, I’m all right!” Liam calls, already on his way back into the kitchen.

Regardless, Harry heaves himself up off the sofa and follows Liam’s path out of the living room and into the kitchen. It’s roasting hot in the small room, the window open and the extractor fan going. Cajun chicken is doing it’s thing in the slow cooker, the veg is bubbling away on the hob and the tray of Dauphinoise potatoes Harry can see in the oven are bubbling and darkening nicely.

“Everything up to speed, Leemo?”

“Yep, yeah!” Definitely!” Liam answers, crouching down to look through the glass panel of the oven door. “Potatoes are maybe a few minutes ahead of the chicken, better turn the dial down a bit. Veg is okay; just pricked the broccoli with a fork and it doesn’t feel too firm.”

“That’s what she said,” Harry jokes weakly, and it goes right over Liam’s head. He springs back up and reaches for his beer.

“Liam, calm down mate. It’s all right. You’re bang on schedule and the food looks great. Table’s set, yeah?”

Liam nods. “Oh my God, what about drinks?” He suddenly explodes.

“Liam! Relax, mate! Everyone’s got drinks; you literally just topped everyone up!”

Liam slumps against the unit, nodding his head. “You’re right. God, I know you’re right.”

“I’m always right. C’mon, sit down for five minutes and relax.”

Harry good intentions land him in the doghouse, as pulling Liam away from the oven to down a beer, for ‘calming’ reasons, the potatoes had caught just a little too much on one side and, in Liam’s opinion, the broccoli was on the wrong side of done.

“Just give the burnt corner of potatoes to me, I don’t care!” Harry hisses, batting away Liam’s hand as he tries to pick a small patch of blackened topping off. “Get your hands away! C’mon, let me help you dish up!”

Liam falls away helplessly as Harry grabs the tongs and lifts the lid off the crock pot. He serves up a Cajun chicken breast, asparagus and chantenay carrots, a portion of potatoes and a sprig of herb atop the chicken to all six guests, making sure his plate has the unsatisfactory potatoes and Louis’ has broccoli and not asparagus.

“Ready!” He shouts at the top of his lungs from the kitchen, making Liam flinch.

Harry carries two plates through, Liam takes two, and Sophia sneaks in while Liam’s back is turned and takes the last two plates through to the table, causing Liam to nearly have a fit when he notices.

“Liam, I’m pregnant not paralysed!” Sophia squeals impatiently. “I’m fine; let me carry two plates, for Christ sake!”

“Just… okay fine, sorry. Just sit.” Liam commands, quickly realising how much like a pet dog he was treating Sophia. He adds a quick ‘all of us, please’ and hurries to his seat.

The food is a delight, and Harry milks his participation in the creation as much as he can. Silence falls over the table like feeding time at the zoo for the next ten minutes or so while they inhale their food, interspersed with the clinking of wine bottles and the scrape of cutlery and the hiccupping of an excitable Perrie.

Sophia eats slowly, stopping every second mouthful for a sip of water and Harry watches her neck three heartburn tablets while they’re at the table. He watches Liam lean into her with concern, whispering something that starts with ‘I’m sorry babe’.

Pudding is ice cream and sorbets. Liam, clearly done playing host by now, brings in a stack of four tubs in from the kitchen with six dessert bowls and spoons, and waves a disinterested hand. “Help yourselves!”

Harry watches Louis scoop two large slabs of mango sorbet into his bowl and stick the serving spoon upright in the tub when he’s done. He also looks across at Liam but he’s not looking; focussed on the large spoonful of rum and raisin currently poised to his lips.

He picks at the lemon sorbet as Louis’ makes himself his second bowl, this time vanilla bean ice cream which he pours his glass of white wine into to make a float.

Sophia disappears upstairs as they all file back into the living room to vegetate in comfier chairs for the rest of the evening. Harry is surprised to see Liam not follow her up, but he suspects Sophia might throw him down the stairs if he dared follow. When she comes back a moment or two later, she’s in pink fleece pyjama bottoms and bump is disguised but by no means hidden under one of Liam’s hoodies.

“Sorry guys I just had to get comfy!” She explains as she hovers by the door, all the seats taken.

“C’mon Soap, come and sit down here love!” Louis calls, getting out of his seat and dropping to the floor. He sits cross legged between Harry’s knees, wraps his hand around Harry’s ankle and rubs his cheek up against his thigh..

“I can’t believe you’ve not found out the gender, like, buying pressies has been _so_ hard!” Perrie exclaims, like they haven’t all made their feelings on the matter very clear since Sophia was five months.

“Yeah, but a surprise is more exciting! When you know the sex and you’ve picked a name and everything already there’s no surprise at the birth. Like, oh surprise it’s a girl, but we already knew that! Welcome to the world, Alison.”

“Alison?” Sophia repeats, looking at Liam disbelievingly. “ _Alison?_ ”

“C’mon, it was just an example!” Liam defends himself.

“No child of mine is being called Alison.” Sophia mutters under her breath.

“Well I know what they _can’t_ call the baby!” Louis shouts, clapping his hands together loudly. “Wayne! Or Jane!”

“Or Elaine!” Perrie pipes up, laughing loudly.

“And, not that you would, but Zayn is off limits too!”

“Zayn Payne!” Harry squawks, a bit livid that he hadn’t thought about that first. “God, that’s a good one!”

“There will be no rhyming names!” Sophia insists, shouting to be heard over the hubbub. “But no, we haven’t picked any names yet. We’re not settled on anything.”

“Pffft, boring!” Louis snorts, making a thumbs down with both hands. “I want to know, the suspense is killing me!”

“That’s the whole point, I think,” Ryan interjects. “Otherwise they’d tell us the names. They want to keep us interested until the very last minute.”

“Like the season finale of a TV show?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Ryan laughs. “They don’t want to lose viewers!”

“You two are as weird as each other!” Liam comments, looking between Louis and Ryan with a bemused grin.

“He’s calling our other halves weirdos,” Harry nudges Ryan, who laughs and makes a face as if he agrees with Liam. Harry can’t really blame him.

*

It’s a good job they didn’t bring the car because by the time Liam is subtly trying to hurry them all along, Louis alone has consumed a bottle and a quarter of white Zinfandel and that’s not including any wine that was served with vanilla ice cream.

“Adios muchachas!” Louis cackles as he embraces Perrie and Sophia at the same time, sticking his bum out exaggeratedly to avoid the bump. “Don’t be- be going into labour tonight, all right okay? Not while I’m drunk and can’t drive you!”

“I’d be the one driving, Tommo!” Liam points out.

“But that’s impossible, you’re drunk too!”

“It’s okay, I don’t plan on going into labour tonight!” Sophia calls above the shouting pair. “Harry, escort your man home please love.”

“C’mon Gobby, time to go home!” Harry throws his arm around an unsteady Louis, guiding him towards the front door. Louis is still calling out his goodbyes as they’re out of the door and heading towards the road. Perrie and Ryan head off in a taxi that they’d insisted he and Louis could share, but for some reason Harry had declined. Perrie waves wildly as they sail past, and Harry stops Louis before he steps into the road without looking.

They pass by the corner shop, closed of course, and Harry’s mouth waters with the idea of sweets and chocolate.

“D’you know what I really fancy?” Harry asks, voicing his thoughts. Louis waits patiently and expectantly for the outcome, a grin bitten down on his lips like he really wants to make an innuendo. “Milk bottles. Y’know, the sweet. But shops’ shut.”

Louis snorts a little bit. Harry _won’t_ indulge him, he _won’t_. “Aw, Harry. You can eat my milk bottle, love!”

Harry rolls his eyes, turning away from Louis but reaching out to support him as he staggers along, killing himself laughing.

“Did you not like that?” Louis asks, and Harry looks back at him to see him pouting.

“No, that was disgusting.” He deadpans, and Louis pouts even more, the pink inside of his lip all bouncy and slick and- “Stop corrupting me, I’m only young.”

“Ah yes, soon to be twenty nine my boy! Next stop thirty. Then you’ll be old like me!”

Harry scoffs. Louis hasn’t changed at all since hitting his thirties. In fact, it’s even better since he hit the milestone. The entirety of Louis’ thirtieth year on this planet was definitely Harry’s favourite. They’d got so much stronger after their break up. Not every day was roses of course, and it had taken a good couple of months after Louis moved back in for things to get back to something resembling normal, but the year had been largely good to them. They’d been on holiday to Greece and got a new car, spent weekends just in bed being with each other; they’d loved each other harder than they ever had before, enjoyed random road trips on weekends just for something to do and spent time getting close with their families again.

Louis walks down the street backwards for a while, before Harry notices and puts a stop to it. Their efforts to be quiet as they enter the estate are exaggerated and cause more harm than good, but they manage to fall through the front door of their home without rousing any of their neighbours.

They stumble straight to bed; drunken sex always makes Harry feel like a teenager again and some of his best memories involve drunken sex with Louis. He lays his sated, dopey boyfriend down naked on the bed and lifts his legs up for him, hooking them over his shoulder, and presses into him hard, eliciting soft moans and whimpers that graduate to high pitched yelps and groans as Harry changes his angle and thrusts as pointedly as he can.

They switch positions for the last few thrusts, Harry propped up on his elbow and Louis’ legs wide open and hooked behind his thigh as Harry pushes into him deep and slow from this new, lower angle. Louis mumbles incoherently as he falls over the edge into his own orgasm with his cock in his hand, Harry following a few seconds later, deep inside Louis.

*

They carry on, headed towards the end of January. Friday the twenty sixth is Sophia’s due date. The date arrives and Louis _still_ hasn’t shaved. Harry is so used to it now he doesn’t even feel it when it rubs against his skin.

All day, Louis texts him bi-hourly updates (i.e.: the fact that nothing has happened), continuing on face-to-face once they’re home. How Liam hasn’t snapped and told Louis just where he can shove his concern is beyond Harry.

However, despite Louis’ strict instructions to Liam and Sophia to inform them via whichever means possible the _second_ Sophia goes into labour, when they get the call at quarter past twelve on Sunday afternoon, the twenty eighth of January, it’s not to panic stations and hectic screaming and shouting.

Little baby Payne was born late the previous evening, one day after their due date, weighing eight pounds and two ounces. Harry takes the phone call, batting away a chipper Louis who leaps to his feet and dances around the living room before returning to his side and grabbing at Harry’s sleeve to badger him for more details.

“Is it a girl or a boy, girl or a boy? C’mon Harry, important questions!” He pesters, before shouting, “LIAM! Girl or boy?”

Louis is most put out to be told it’s still a secret, but they’re up at the hospital waiting outside the postnatal ward the second it strikes two pm and visiting time begins.

They’re buzzed in by the receptionist and Louis almost breaks into a light jog as they approach the desk. “We’re here to see – shit, Haz, what room is it? Christ, sorry for swearing, shit. Ah, I did it again!”

“Lou, calm down!”

“Our friend has just given birth last night, is she around? She’s long with short brown hair.”

“He means short with long brown hair.” Harry corrects him, the ward clerk giving him an endeared but slightly exasperated look.

“Her name?”

“Sorry, it’s Sophia Smith.”

“Ah yes, quite the bonny baby I must say! Healthy set of lungs!”

“Is it a girl or a boy, they won’t tell us!” Louis interrupts.

“Ah, I’m afraid I’m under strict instruction from Dad not to tell!” The ward clerk chuckles. “The room is number twenty two, right around this corridor as far as you can go, last on your right, yellow door.”

“Thank you!” Harry calls as he chaperones Louis away from the desk. They follow the ward clerk’s instructions, dashing through the corridors, past closed doors with new additions behind them. Harry loves imagining all the stories that are just beginning new chapters.

As they approach door number 22, Harry feels like they should slow down. His memory takes him back to that evening Liam had cried in his arms mourning the loss of their first two babies. Now, here they were, about to go in and meet the new arrival, finally here safe and sound.

Louis bounds ahead like a puppy dog, turning around every few seconds to gesture at him to hurry up, eyes urgent and pleading. Harry catches up to him and stands back as Louis knocks softly on the door.

They wait for a beat and then there’s Liam at the door; still wearing the same grey round neck that he’d been wearing in their Skype call on Friday evening, hair flopping in all directions without product and skin pale. He bursts into tears almost immediately, happy tears this time though, and Louis launches himself at Liam. He throws his arms around his neck and almost bulldozes him right over, bleating over and over how happy and proud and excited he is.

After he’s been freed from Louis, Liam hugs Harry too and they venture into the room, behind the privacy curtain to see Sophia and the baby.

She’s lying propped up on a pillow, looking tired and maybe not one hundred percent with it but she still looks gorgeous, no matter what. She smiles weakly when she sees them. “Hey you two.”

“Hi babe, congratulations!” Harry says softly.

“Hey mama,” Louis grins, peering excitedly over at the crib just by the side of the bed.

“Go on, have a look, I know you’re dying to.” Sophia croaks with a soft little laugh.

Harry steps over towards the crib, Louis touching a hand to his hip as they move together. He turns to look at his man, smiling giddily. Louis is fit to burst with excitement, Harry can see, but as he looks over the plastic edge and sees the tiny, tiny brand new little human that’s just entered their lives, Louis calms right down. He breathes in sharply, making a soft oooh-ing noise in his throat. He brings his hands up to his face and then looks at Harry again.

“Oh my God, a little boy?” Louis says softly under his breath, scrambling around to look at Liam and Sophia. Liam has perched himself on the edge of the bed and has his arm around Sophia’s shoulder delicately.

“Yep!” Liam beams, proud as punch obviously. “Lads, meet George Henry Payne.”

Harry and Louis both look up at each other at the same moment, Louis smirking as Harry chuckles to himself. “Guess you’ll have to think of a new name for our little Georgie Jo-Anne.” Harry whispers quietly to Louis.

Louis nods, a glint in his eye, and Harry suspects that Louis is already on the case. Harry looks down at George as Louis turns back to Liam and Sophia.

“He’s absolutely beautiful, guys.” Louis squeaks. “A real stunner.”

“Want a cuddle, Uncle Harry?” Liam asks, smiling broadly as he delicately slips one hand under George’s tiny head and the other under the miniscule weight of his body. His little limbs shoot out at the disturbance and Liam moves so slowly with him.

“Let Lou go first, can tell he’s dying to.” Harry smiles, stepping aside so Liam can hand George over to an eager Louis.

Harry perches on the bed with Sophia as Louis shuffles back in the dusky pink arm chair in the corner of the room and takes George into his arms. He shields George close to his chest, one arm supporting the length of his tiny body and the other hand stroking his tiny cheek gently.

“Hello George, I’m Louis, pleased to meet you.” Louis whispers, the rest of the room dead silent. “I bet that was quite exciting, being born and seeing this big new place for the first time. Bit scary though, I bet. It’ll be all right though, with mummy and daddy here to look after you, and we’re all here too. We love you as much as they do, and always will. Your mummy and daddy waited a long time for you so I won’t keep you away from them for too long, but just so you know, I’ve got lots and lots of sisters and I’ve _even_ got a niece and a nephew so I’ve had lots of time with little babies like you. So if you ever want to hang out with me, I’ll be here, okay? Me, you, Daddy and my Harry can go for lads’ days out once you get bigger, let mummy have some lovely time to chill. You will meet Harry in a little minute, you’ll see he isnt scary. And yes, I think a boys’ day would be really good, I can’t wait, can you? Oooh, so so lovely!”

All three of them are crying by the time Louis looks up, watery eyed himself. “God, you bunch of saps! Stop, you’re gonna start me off!”

“That was beautiful, Tommo,” Liam remarks, running the edge of his finger under his eyes, over the dusky purple shadows that are engrained in the thin skin. “Who knew you had that in you?”

 _Harry_ knew Louis had that in him, but that’s for another time.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that didn't suck! Thank you for reading! x


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